by Ilka Tampke
But what were these bonds? I wondered, startling myself with the question. Of what were they formed that whole nations may be so free of them? I stood and picked up a dark blue robe from the pile laid over the bench.
‘What does your Kendra’s wisdom say of our Cartimandua?’ he asked.
I turned to him, curious. He had not sought my counsel since we had sat at the fire at Môn. ‘It takes no wisdom to see she is your sister. I like her.’
‘I knew you would. Do you agree with her?’
‘Of course not,’ I answered. ‘Albion is my soul. Your war has my loyalty.’
His gaze lingered on my face. This journey, if nothing else, had bridged us. ‘We will leave tomorrow, Ailia. There is no purpose in remaining here.’
I nodded and held another dress against my chest. It was a deep berry-red, threaded with gold. If I put it on, I would have never worn anything finer.
‘Do not choose that one,’ he said, tilting his head.
‘Why not? I think it the nicest. Don’t you?’
‘I do,’ he said, sitting upright and undoing his cloak. ‘But if you wear it, I may not keep my promise to Euvrain.’
My face filled with a furious heat.
He pulled off his shirt to wash and I turned away.
‘Does it offend you to look upon me?’ he asked.
‘No,’ I said—his candour had made me bold—‘but, if I did, I may not keep my promise to Euvrain.’
By her standards, Cartimandua’s feast may have been humble, but the herb-flavoured meats and peppery oils were finer than any I had tasted.
Venutius, her husband, sat at her side, listening closely but speaking little. She had proudly told us that this fair, thin-faced man had been next in line to the Carvetti throne when their royal marriage was agreed, but it was clear that whatever authority he had within his birth tribe was lost to Cartimandua’s now.
A sparse cohort of councillors ringed the fire, including two journeymen who were not robed or metalled as wisepeople, but bore the small blue spiral on their brows by which I knew them.
‘Are you not forbidden to remain here?’ I had whispered to the younger of them as we were seated.
‘I am her physician, and my elder is her augur. When the legionaries come to collect the taxes, she calls us servants and bids us kneel before her to assure Rome we are subdued.’
‘Yet she consults you still?’ I said, frowning.
‘Always.’
There was another man present, barely more than a youth, though impressively built, who sprawled on a cushioned bench on Cartimandua’s other side.
‘Who is he?’ I asked my neighbour, through the hum of talk.
‘Vellocatus. The king’s armour-bearer.’
‘Why does the queen seat her husband’s servant at her left hand like a consort?’
The journeyman smiled. ‘Why does the queen do as she does?’
I lifted my bowl to receive a spoonful of the fragrant sauce. We ate using small bronze spoons instead of meat hooks. They made me clumsy, as I was accustomed to sopping stew with bread. I noticed Caradog was at ease with the tool.
He argued with his cousin over the number of weapons that she might supply to his war and under what terms. She was more generous than I had expected.
‘You shall have rod silver and as many spears as may be convincingly disguised as trade,’ she said. ‘But in payment for these you will not speak to my chiefs. You will not further factionalise my territories.’ There was colour in her cheeks. Perhaps she feared Caradog more than she revealed. ‘It has been no small effort to bring the Brigantes to one alliance. I will kill any chiefs who betray it at your incitation. You will have their deaths on your hands.’
‘Wife—’ said Venutius, by way of pulling reins on the threat.
‘Hush!’ she snapped with a sourness I had not yet heard. ‘It was not you who persuaded the chiefs to swear. You have not the arts for it.’
Venutius stared blankly at the fire, then called for more wine.
‘Your insistence on loyalty is one that I share,’ replied Caradog to Cartimandua. ‘I gratefully accept your metals and will honour your sovereignty over your people.’
‘Then let us drink to your war,’ said Cartimandua, smiling and raising her cup. ‘Win it if you can—the moon may yet defeat the sun—but do not ask me again if I will join you. We are the Brigantes and we stand alone.’
Cups were filled, drained and filled again. Dried fruits were served that looked like pig turds and tasted like sunlight. Cartimandua told stable yard jokes she could barely finish for her own howling laughter, and she and Caradog competed to recall the greatest mischief they had caused as children in Camulodunum.
I saw the affection that flowed between them. Caradog was not mistaken to have come. Their bond was true. It was easy to see why he had believed it would be enough. And though it had not been, he now laughed at her hearth. She needed no journeywoman. She was a magician of her own kind.
I sipped my wine and wondered what she made of me. Was I babe-like in her eyes, as I was in Prydd’s? An entrancing innocent? As I watched her in all her lavish sureness, I asked myself whether I had failed to see something she saw: a deeper merit in Rome’s intrusion.
Then I recalled her home, her indifference to Lleu, and I knew it was she who had lost her grasp of something true. Something subtle and generative, humming quietly at the core of everything. I closed my eyes that I might try to hear it. The land’s voice, the Mothers’ voice. She was staring at me when I opened my eyes.
Venutius whispered, frowning, into her ear. Despite Cartimandua’s belittlement of him, at least he had the pleasure of her bedskins each night.
But as the evening drew late, and the wine bore us partway to Annwyn, it was not Venutius, but the armour-bearer on her other side, whom Cartimandua began to loll against, while her husband stared grimly ahead.
‘Agh, I must go to bed!’ she said, sitting upright.
‘I am not tired,’ said Venutius.
‘I was not thinking of sleep,’ she drawled. Her glazed eyes fell to me. ‘What of you, Ailia? Surely your title affords you the pick of the warriors? You have this one, at least, in your thrall.’ She motioned Caradog.
Caradog smiled. ‘Ours is a ritual marriage.’
‘Perhaps in title!’ She roared with laughter. ‘A blind man could see that she is as ready for you as a mare in season. Why, I grow wet just watching the pair of you. Venutius, ready yourself—if you can. I will need someone tonight.’
Heat seared in my face until I feared I would blister with it.
Caradog, for once, was silenced.
Never had I been so aware of Caradog’s breath as I lay beside him. Despite the empty pallet between us, I felt as though I could hear the coursing of blood through his veins. Did he sleep? My belly churned with the reckoning of it. He had said nothing as we had returned to our guest hut and I, too, had been silent with humiliation. I rolled onto my back and stared up at the bunches of sorrel hanging from the roof beams. Euvrain had been right in her warning. There was no space in war for the turmoil of desire.
Sleepless, I swung my feet to the floor and slipped outside. Stenwic was bright under a clear half moon. I wandered across the courtyard, relishing the cold air on my skin. Something moved in the corner of my vision and I stopped still. ‘Who is there?’ I said.
‘Who asks?’ The growling voice was Cartimandua’s.
‘It is I, Ailia.’
She emerged from the darkness, clasping a bearskin around her bare shoulders. ‘Why are you wandering? Do you need a servant?’
‘No…I can’t sleep.’ My heart thudded. ‘What of you?’
She chuckled. ‘I had a preference for a different bed, but I’m in no rush. Speak with me a moment.’ She grabbed my hand and led me to a bench in front of the stables. A sand-coloured hound sniffed at our feet, making me miss Neha intensely. I smoothed my under-robe over my legs.
Cartimandua sat close, her broad thig
h against mine. ‘Why do you not sleep?’ she asked. ‘Are my guest huts uncomfortable?’
‘Oh no. The bed is…most restful.’
The scent of her unwashed skin was overwhelming. The silence grew tight as a drum between us. She picked up my hand, turned it over, and circled her thumb in my palm with the lightest of pressure.
I did not pull away.
‘Listen,’ she said in a lowered voice. ‘I have long since lost trust in the journeymen and have turned instead to my own judgement.’ Her fingers tightened. ‘But I see in you the true fire of journey-law. You do not seek power, and yet it burns within you.’ Her eyes glittered wetly in the darkness. ‘So I say this…’ She leaned forward. ‘Close your ears to the journeymen who would command you. Make no mistake, they are as self-seeking and power-hungry as any Roman general. You are a journeywoman in possession of your own mind. Use it.’ Now she pressed her thumb deep into the bone and muscle of my hand.
‘Why are you telling me this?’ I gasped.
‘Because I would see strength thrive.’
‘Then give Caradog your armies and he will thrive.’
‘No, it is you who are stronger. Caradog sees by only one light. You see by many torches and your vision is greater.’
My breath was shallow, barely filling my chest. I was light-headed with her words, her scent.
‘Have you made a lover of the king yet?’
‘Only once…for the marriage.’
‘And not again?’
‘No. He does not…wish it.’
Her laughter tore through the stillness of the night. ‘Then you must change him, journeywoman. It is not merely pleasure and fat babes that the bedskins beget. There is nobility in desire. It is the whirling of all life. The light of Lleu is between you. Do not douse it. Feed it. It will make strong his kingship. And it will make strong the tribes.’
I stared at her. It was as if the Mothers were speaking. ‘I have sworn to his wife—’
Again she laughed. ‘And who is she to stem the force of the Kendra’s desire?’
‘She is of true nobility…’
‘And you are not?’ She shook her head. ‘Do not erode yourself with doubt. Fight against the Romans if you choose, but swear to me that you will never take up a sword against yourself.’
‘I will not,’ I murmured.
‘Swear it, Ailia! Promise me this.’ Her face was close, her breath hot.
‘I swear to you.’
She kissed me. Wine and fig flavoured her mouth. ‘You are sweet as nectar,’ she murmured, her lips at my neck. ‘Will you join with me and Vellocatus, if Caradog will not sate your hunger? Stupid beast.’
My senses swam. Who was this shaman who invited me to her bed? Who authored her story exactly as she pleased? Blood surged through my body but I pulled myself free. I desired her, but I did not trust her. ‘I shall not join you, though I don’t doubt there would be pleasure in it.’
‘I did not see you as one who would shy from pleasure.’
‘There are pleasures I seek.’
Cartimandua smiled. ‘I am certain of it.’
I rose from the bench.
‘When do you leave?’ she asked.
‘With Lleu’s rise.’ I looked to faint light on the eastern horizon. ‘I must return to my bed.’ I walked a few steps then turned back to face her. ‘Thank you,’ I said.
‘What for?’
‘For what you have given me.’
Caradog snored softly from across the room. I would speak differently to him as we rode tomorrow. I would question his thoughts and insist he heard mine. I would demand respect as his advisor. Cartimandua was right. I was useless to this war if I fought another against myself.
As for her other council—Caradog rolled over in his bedskins and now faced me, his sleeping face lit by the low fire—it prodded a yearning too raw to touch, and I could not allow myself to think of it.
Steam billowed from our horses’ nostrils as we readied them to depart. Cartimandua stood, wrapped in a grey woollen blanket, waiting to bid us farewell. Her face looked pouched and weary in the dawn light. Venutius stood beside her, taut as a cart-spring.
Cartimandua embraced me with a whispered reminder to honour my promise and an invitation to return, then she turned to Caradog. Her red-rimmed eyes were hard as iron. ‘I love you, foster-brother,’ she said to him. ‘You are kin. I wish you and your war all the strength of the Mothers. But if you come here again I will hand you to the Romans.’
7
The Role of the Songman
The poets craft kings as smiths craft metal.
THE SKY was heavy as we rode. Caradog did not speak. I puzzled, yet again, at the swing of his temper. He might be silent as stone in one hour, then rival a gaggle of servant women at spring wash in the next. What was it now that fuelled his quietness?
‘What say you of Cartimandua’s threat, Caradog?’ I finally asked, kicking my mare forward to breast his.
‘She betrays us all,’ he answered. ‘And I hate her all the more because I cannot help but love her.’
I smiled. ‘There is always love within hate.’
‘Not for the Romans,’ he snapped. ‘My hate for them is pure.’
‘In one sense,’ I said.
‘And in another?’
‘You surely admire them,’ I said carefully. ‘Is it not their greatness that will make your defeat of them all the more splendid?’
He turned to me. ‘Do you think I welcome this invasion?’
‘You have said yourself that the Mothers seek to test your bonds to these tribelands, to secure your kingship…’
‘That does not mean that I pursue my position above the lives of my people.’
‘No! I did not mean…’ I had gone too far.
He stared at me. ‘You think my purpose is impure?’ His voice was cold.
‘Caradog, I do not.’ Why did I push him when I had seen that he was already disturbed?
‘Then do not imply that I am treacherous. You were not able to help me sway Cartimandua. Do not now begin to doubt me, or you will have no value by my side.’
I stiffened. ‘Are you not strong enough to withstand my doubt? Then you are weaker than I thought.’
Our argument ceased at the sound of galloping behind us. Caradog placed his hand to the hilt of his farmer’s knife as the rider drew closer.
But it was no Roman soldier who wrenched his mount to a halt before us.
‘Venutius!’ said Caradog. ‘Why have you followed?’
‘Quickly,’ he urged, as he dropped from his horse. ‘I am here under great deception—’ This was barely the same man we had just farewelled. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes alight. He tethered the horses then led us several paces into the forest, where we were hidden from view.
‘It is not as Cartimandua has described,’ he said in an urgent whisper. ‘She says the Brigantes chiefs are united against Rome, but they are not…’ He paused. ‘I am not.’
‘Speak on,’ said Caradog.
‘Many chiefs are angered by her failure to help the Iceni. Our ties with them were strong, and she has severed them. She betrays our alliances in order to keep peace with Rome.’
Caradog frowned. ‘Why do you tell me this now, tribesman?’
‘So you know that you have friendship here,’ he said. ‘Cartimandua will not yield to you, but there are many of the Brigantes who will. There are chiefs in the north—my homeland—who are ready to strike against Rome.’
‘Are you saying they will revolt?’ I said.
‘Not yet. But soon. When the moment is right.’ He stared at Caradog. ‘When the commander is right. Cartimandua stands on the back of the Roman army. But she is giddy with her own rise. There will be a moment of weakness. In the meantime, you must strengthen your ties among the Brigantes. I will tell you the chiefs and townships to which you must ride. I have sent messengers by the lesser routes to tell them you are coming. Be sure that you see them all. Lay your message lines. O
pen the pathways that they may supply weapons, and later, men.’
Caradog stared at Venutius for a few moments then drew him into a forceful embrace. Venutius returned it and I saw the spirit that must have once caught the great Cartimandua’s eye. I had thought him castrated, but he was not.
‘This is our land,’ he said, standing back. ‘We are with you, Caradog.’
The war king nodded. ‘Who commands those who would rise?’
Venutius frowned. ‘I do. By great stealth. I learned much in my time in the Empire’s forces and I learn much in Cartimandua’s bed.’
I could not help but ask, ‘Do you know no love of your wife?’
‘I have loved her. But I love Albion more.’
‘Go to your men in the north,’ said Caradog. ‘Tell them to stand ready for my word.’
‘I will,’ said Venutius. ‘Listen now as I tell you the names of the settlements you must pass.’
‘You listen, Ailia,’ said Caradog. ‘You are better memory-trained than I.’
When I had heard him, Venutius kissed my hand and bade us farewell. ‘Wait a few moments after I leave, that none may say they saw us speaking.’
‘Brother,’ called Caradog when Venutius had walked several paces.
Venutius turned.
‘May the Mothers be with you.’
Emotion flickered in his face. ‘You will always find haven here.’
‘Did I not tell you, War King?’ I said, when Venutius had disappeared. ‘The Mothers find a voice to assure you that your war is right and true.’
Caradog met my eye. ‘Yet you have said it is not.’
Caradog showed little gladness of Venutius’s pledge, but rather, with every turn of the woodland pathway, fell more deeply into a dark temper, until I feared that no chief would believe that so miserable a man could be Caradog, the famous war king who would deliver us our freedom. For the first time since leaving Llanmelin, I looked forward to returning him back to the woman who could weather him, for I began to grow weary of his moods.
In the late afternoon, we came to a trickling spring. Small stones ringed around it, forming a shrine to the Mothers. ‘I need to fill my skin,’ I said.