by M. K. Hume
Comforted, Severa considered what had been asked of her. Then, with a silent nod, she trotted from the room.
Endellion sighed in distress. She found that she was weeping, less for Decius than for Caradoc, who was also close to eternity. Then, in case Severa should catch her with red eyes, she pulled herself together and began to straighten the soiled bed.
Tegan Eurfron passed Endellion in the corridor the next morning, after visiting her husband just before dawn. Her face had long submitted to age, assisted by a perpetual frown of dissatisfaction.
‘You, girl! How is the king really faring? What does he speak of when he’s rested? I can’t get a lucid word out of him, so I’ve come to think that he’s deliberately ignoring me. Oh – I told him about that old Roman’s death. He was quite upset.’
Damn, Endellion thought to herself. This stupid woman hasn’t an iota of tact or common sense. But now was hardly the time for an argument.
‘He’s quite worried, Your Highness. He fears for the future of his tribe if Maximus should fail in Gaul, emperor or no. Also, he was very fond of Decius, so his death has come as a shock. I believe my father is forcing himself to stay alive until he hears word of his friend’s exploits in Gaul.’
‘Surely not! Caradoc has never been maudlin before,’ Tegan Eurfron frowned, and then remembered how worry could cause lines on her face. ‘Please inform me if there is any change in his condition. His family should be at his side if his health worsens.’
‘You’ll be the first to know,’ Endellion agreed, but she would have preferred to keep his family as far from Caradoc as possible. They always managed to upset her father, but the queen and her sons had an expectation that they would care for him at the end of his life. Up until now, the family’s many duties, and their belief that Caradoc would live for ever, had allowed Endellion to spend as much time in her father’s company as she wanted.
Two days later, after Decius’s body had been laid out in Tintagel’s chapel, a courier arrived and demanded permission to see the regent immediately. Endellion would have refused, but a small voice in her head warned her that such an act would be a betrayal of her father in every way.
The courier was exhausted. He was also carrying a wound along the shoulder of his sword arm and was brusque to the point of rudeness.
‘I have come, sire, at the bidding of Aeron ap Iorweth, who wishes you to understand the situation in Gaul.’
In response to Caradoc’s brisk nod, he accepted a glass of wine to wet his throat.
‘My master, Maximus, invaded Italia last year in the summer. He quickly took Mediolanum and imprisoned the bishop, who remained loyal to Valentinian. We were heartened by the ease with which we defeated the local troops, so Maximus planned to extend his land grab as soon as winter was over. The weather was particularly harsh for months, but I’ve come to believe that we should have taken the initiative and marched on to Rome. But Maximus had already planned his attack strategy in full. We threatened Rome yet did not take it, a feat which was well within our power.’
‘Explain!’ Caradoc panted, breathing so heavily that Endellion insisted on raising him in his bed with extra pillows and dosing him with a little herbal stimulant before the courier was allowed to continue.
‘Maximus has divided his army into three parts, but he still commands the larger part of the force. His brother, Marcellinus, commands a small, mobile force that Maximus has tasked to harass the enemy before the larger force makes contact. In this way, Maximus can assess their strength and their responses. At the same time, Maximus’s fast cavalry has been placed under the command of Andragathius, who has vowed to smash any force that moves against his master.’
‘Where is Valentinian?’ Caradoc asked, his mind still working like the commander and strategist that he had always been. ‘Has he holed up in Rome?’
‘Not he! We caught up with him at Mediolanum, but he managed to break free and escape with a fast troop of guards and ran for Ravenna. According to our scouts, he travelled through Illyricum to meet with Theodosius, who has offered him assistance and vowed to protect him from all harm. Maximus is furious, for he has lost the initiative. However, he was still holding his ground when I was instructed to travel to Tintagel at speed. Perhaps he will cross Italia and enter Illyricum to confront his enemies.’
Caradoc visibly winced at the suggestion.
‘Why have you come to me?’ Caradoc asked, knowing that Maximus must be in a desperate situation to warrant a request such as the one that was coming or he would not have sent a courier on such a dangerous mission to Britannia at a time when he was fully engaged in a complex battle for survival in Italia.
‘The Franks, under the command of Marcomer, have picked this time to foment a rebellion in Northern Gaul. They have put Maximus’s supply lines, his rear and the flanks of his army under threat. This situation cannot be allowed to continue. I have been to Armorica and Conanus has sent his remaining reserves to the northern frontier, although most of his men had already left with Maximus’s main force. We are in desperate need of your help. Any troops available must take ship for Gesoriacum immediately. They must assemble and march to Nemetocenna, where they will join with Conanus’s forces and send the Franks back to where they came from. We need one thousand men – immediately!’
Caradoc snorted with disappointment and anger.
‘Look at me, young sir. I am unable to feed myself, let alone hold a sword or mount a horse. How could I raise a force of warriors from my sick bed?’
The courier, Varrus, set his face into stern lines. ‘All men listen to Caradoc. Not all your young men went with my master when he departed Britannia after killing the Picts. You have sons and you can send messengers to the other tribes to levy an army. I have been instructed to demand that you call your eldest son and do as I say. Your loyalty to your High King is being tested, King Caradoc.’
‘Leave me be, while I consider this matter,’ Caradoc ordered in a voice so faint that only Endellion could hear him with ease. ‘Daughter! Send for Cadal and Cadoc! Meanwhile I will think on what has been said.’
‘But, sir. I don’t think you recognise . . .’
‘How long has it been since you left Mediolanum, Varrus? At a guess?’ Fuelled by his anger, Caradoc’s voice had gained a little strength.
‘I left in the spring, at a time when my master was making plans to march towards Aquileia. I have been seeking aid for my emperor for more than ten weeks.’
‘Thank you for your truthfulness. Now, leave me to think and to speak to my sons. Endellion? Show this young man to his accommodation, and we will speak further on this matter in the morning.’ Caradoc paused. ‘One more question, young man! Did Maximus ask after Decius, his servant?’
Varrus looked puzzled, as if he had no idea who Decius was. With a little prompting from Endellion, however, he finally recalled the existence of the old decurion.
‘Maximus’s old servant? He made a nuisance of himself when he insisted on continuing in the service of my master beyond the time when he was still of any use. Why would the emperor ask after him?’
Caradoc looked pained, but Endellion permitted herself a mirthless smile as she ushered Varrus out of the king’s bedchamber.
‘No reason at all, Master Varrus. No reason at all,’ she answered him, before shutting the door firmly in his face.
‘You can see in that young man’s attitude the best and the worst of Magnus Maximus. Out of sight is out of mind! So, as much as it pains me, we will act in a similar fashion. It’s time now for the Britons to plan for their own survival.’
Caradoc refused to say another word, so the courier was forced to accept Endellion’s hospitality until such time as the king informed him of his decision. Endellion sent word by servants to fetch Cadal and Cadoc, and ensure that they presented themselves to their father in his rooms.
Befo
re Endellion permitted them to enter, she explained the situation to them, especially Varrus’s demands for troops to relieve Maximus’s northern frontier from the threat of a Frank invasion. She also explained the manner of Decius’s death, and how Maximus’s indifference to the loss of his servant had upset their father.
‘Your father will want to discuss his decision with you before he makes it, my lords. He’s near to death and the worry alone could kill him, if he becomes overexcited. I’ve given him as much stimulant as I dare. The healer explained to me that too much would likely bring his diseased heart to a stop. I’ve also fed him poppy juice in his wine, which has made him very tired. Rest would help him to survive this shock, so don’t keep him awake for too long. Varrus will have to wait for an answer – I don’t think he’s earned the right to ask anything of us that we don’t wish to give.’
Cadal pressed his sister’s hand and found that it was trembling. ‘Thank you for taking such good care of Father and protecting him from this courier. It’s a pity that I wasn’t present, for I’d have thrown him down the steps to the causeway if he became too obstreperous.’
Endellion allowed the two men to enter their father’s apartment. She followed them and stood in one of the corners while Cadoc searched for more oil lamps and used his flint to strike a spark and set the wicks alight.
Caradoc awoke with a jerk. Endellion moved straight to his side, lifting his frail body so he could sip at the cold spring water with which the fortress was blessed.
‘So you’ve come, my boys. Has Endellion told you what that damned courier demanded of me?’ The two younger men nodded and the king sighed with satisfaction.
‘I won’t permit either of you to travel to the continent. Nor will I countenance more of Britannia’s precious youth spilling their blood in Gaul and Italia to win a throne for another man. Many years ago, Endellion’s mother warned me that this day would come and that I must resist all blandishments to strip our land bare of the last of our warriors. Varrus will have my permission to enlist any Romans who wish to travel to Gaul, but I’ll not allow him to recruit British warriors to his cause.’
This long speech exhausted the old man, who coughed weakly until Endellion gave him a little more water.
‘Maximus made a command decision to march towards Illyricum, which is in the north of Greece, boys. There’s no reason you should have to live and die in these foreign lands, nor any logic that could persuade me that any of my young men should perish in outlandish places so Maximus can achieve the throne on the Palatine.’
‘Surely the people of Britannia owe something to the High King, especially if he is in personal danger?’ Cadal stated. Caradoc realised that his son’s sentiments were those of a loyal man who had known Maximus since the long-past battle for Anderida.
‘I’m forced to make a decision, my son. Should it be Maximus or Britannia? We’ve given all we can to Maximus’s cause, without stripping the tribes bare. To send more of our men to die in places that are far removed from their ancestral lands would be a fool’s errand, one that would damn us to a slow decline until the Picts, the Saxons or the Hibernians finish us off. No, Cadal, I will not do it. After all, what would Britannia gain for such a sacrifice? Very little, as far as I can judge.’
The following morning, Caradoc said as much to Varrus, flanked by his sons for support.
‘My loyalty and my duty must be to my lands, my tribes and my kinfolk. You are free to petition the tribes yourself, if you so wish. You won’t receive any interference from me, but I’ll not send a single man across the Litus Saxonicum for doubtful reasons.’
Varrus was furious beyond any thoughts of self-preservation. His intemperate words washed over Caradoc, causing the old king to wince, until Varrus found a new coin in the pouch attached to his belt. He threw it down onto the table, where it rolled to a shaky stop near Caradoc’s hand. The king picked it up and stared at the face of Maximus that had been impressed onto the coin.
‘Keep the image of your one-time friend to remember what he looked like before treachery brought about his demise. It’s a silver coin of value, so it will pay for whatever food and drink I have consumed in this place. I’ll leave now and I’ll not wish you a good day.’
As Varrus stormed out of the fortress, Caradoc sat in his chair and turned the silver coin over and over with his fingertips. The profile of Magnus Maximus looked out at the world, as young, as vigorous and as indomitable as he had been when Caradoc had first met him at the top of the cliff stairs at Fortress Tintagel.
‘Pray Maximus isn’t finished. Pray that he prevails over Theodosius because, without him, we may be lost.’
Cadal looked down at his father’s face and, for the first time in his life, saw that his father was weeping.
‘You will take my place at the interment of Decius, my son. He asked Severa if he could be buried on the headland overlooking Tintagel, so he can remain on guard while he waits for the return of his master. I’ve ordered that a monolith should be brought from the broken cliff face near the village to mark the last resting place of a brave and dutiful servant.’
Cadal felt ill from his recognition of his father’s impending death. He cursed Varrus and he would have cursed Decius, but he saw the respect and misery on Caradoc’s face. He slowly nodded.
‘Aye, Father. I’ll ensure that your orders are carried out in accordance with your instructions.’
‘Remember too, Cadal, to bow your head to the decurion. Decius was a true man.’
Time passed as slowly and as ponderously as the indrawn breath of a dying man. Tintagel held tight and prayed for the peaceful passing of its old king. In her ceaseless efforts to protect him, Endellion became so pale and thin that it seemed as if the next strong wind might blow her over the battlements.
She looked out over the road leading down to Tintagel for so long that she no longer bothered to scan its empty, dusty spaces. Autumn had come and winter was sniffing at the heels of hurrying farmers who were trying to complete the harvest and prepare the fields for the spring that would follow. Long-dead grass crackled under her boots when she walked along the clifftops, as if the frost that encircled her wasting heart was also holding the earth in thrall.
When he appeared, the horseman was almost overlooked in the ennui of the fortress. He must have reached the outskirts of Tintagel fishing village before the arrival of nightfall and had slept out on the bare earth after finding some fodder for his horse, his lifeline to survival. What happened to him was of less importance than his mount. Every fibre of his emaciated frame sent him towards the fortress he had never visited and did not know because he could only rest once he had completed his sworn duty.
The horse slithered on the icy surface of the causeway and only just kept its footing. The servants who ran to help the rider noticed a shaggy coat that hadn’t been curried or brushed for many months, although it still retained some fat under its bay hide.
The rider was another matter. Too weak to climb the steps leading to the forecourt, he was winched up by an ingenious rope and pulley mechanism installed for the movement of supplies. Barely conscious, he was taken to a lower room where the herb woman examined him. ‘This poor boy isn’t ill. He’s just exhausted after many months of travel. He’s starving.’
The visitor’s face was covered by a beard that obscured his features. His dusty hair was knotted and needed washing and brushing, while his skin was grey with the dirt of many roadways. Curious, Cadal came to view this wild man who had appeared out of nowhere without warning. The prince noticed that his clothes, although they were worn, faded and very dirty, were of good quality.
Having reached his goal, the vagabond fell into a deep and restless sleep. His carers tried to wash what they could reach of his body, until they stripped him bare of clothing that was so threadbare the material fell apart in the hands of the servants. Cadal stared down at the man�
�s unfamiliar features and wondered why he had come to this lonely and distant place.
‘This mystery man has been burned by suns that are far hotter than ours,’ Cadal remarked to his brother as they sat down to eat their evening meal. ‘But we’ll have to wait until he recovers before we can discover who he is.’
That same night, Endellion was wakened by her father’s servant with word that Caradoc was scarcely breathing after slipping into an unnatural sleep. The servants felt certain that he would never waken, and were already weeping. She rushed to his room, while sending for the herb woman, the queen and his sons as she ran through the halls.
Father’s time has come! Somehow Endellion couldn’t understand the words that echoed through her head. He’d been ill for years, but he had always rallied. Suddenly, she was very much alone.
She felt like an intruder in the sickroom as each of Caradoc’s kin paid their respects and took their leave of the indomitable old man. The only real sounds in the room were the heaving and rattling noises that came from the king’s chest. Feeling more lost than she had ever been before, Endellion waited until a weeping Tegan Eurfron was helped from the sick room by Cadoc. Then she moved forward to kneel beside Caradoc’s unconscious form.
‘What will happen to me, now that you’re about to leave me, Father? How will I live?’
Out of self-pity, Endellion had voiced her misery aloud. She felt a warm presence beside her and Cadal’s heavy hand fell reassuringly onto her shoulder.
‘Out of respect for Father’s intentions, Endellion, I will honour his wishes. He loved you and he will expect me to care for you,’ her brother assured her. ‘Look to me for support, Endellion, for I’ll not permit anything to happen to you.’
Then brother and sister looked down at their father and the tears began to flow. While they had been speaking, Caradoc ap Ynyr had passed into the shades. In an anticlimax that bore no similarity to his turbulent lifetime, he had relinquished his spirit peacefully, certain that Endellion would be cared for and that he had carried out his duty to the best of his abilities. Both siblings’ hearts were lighter to see that the pain and suffering had been wiped from their father’s face so that, once again, he looked young and free. This strong face had seen the best in Magnus Maximus and had acted as the emperor’s regent. His huge heart had held Britannia together in those times when the darkness had hovered on the horizon.