Dragon of the Island

by Mary Gillgannon

  Aurora reached the edge of the circle and stepped out into a cool, still world. The dew on the grass made her ankles wet, and the bright moon lit up the landscape with a solemn, ancient glow. Aurora shuddered. She didn’t know what to do—whether to return to Caer Eryri alone or go back into the circle. She didn’t want to go back, and yet she didn’t want to be alone either. She could hear the voices of the spirits all around her—the whisper of the wind in the grass, the smell of water in the air, the crackle of the consuming fire behind her. She stood still, waiting. It seemed she had turned to stone and would wait forever on this moon-chilled plain.

  Her trance was broken when she saw a movement in front of her, and a dark figure advanced toward her. As the creature approached, Aurora saw the towering horns and gasped—it was the stag man. Aurora stood trembling, afraid to run. Was it a man after all, playing the part of the stag? Or was it a god, who had died and come to life again?

  As the stag man neared her, Aurora saw the gashes on his body from the hunters. The wounds no longer bled, and the streaks of blood had dried to black stains upon his glistening skin. Her eyes were drawn to the rest of his body. The breechcloth was gone, and Aurora could see the stag man’s erection clearly. He was just a man after all, Aurora thought with relief.

  The stag man advanced steadily, making no sound. Aurora tried to see his face, to discern the eyes that looked out at her from the leather mask, but it was too dark. Perhaps it was better this way, she thought, with the man unknown, faceless. Aurora could feel the fever of desire burning within her. She wanted this man-god. She wanted to lick his salty wounds, to stroke the hard muscles beneath his sweaty skin, to feel the crushing weight of his strong body pressing down upon her.

  When he was but a few feet away from her, the stag man stopped and gestured toward her clothing. Aurora looked down at herself in the soft sheen of moonlight. The thin silk was saturated with sweat, clearly outlining the curves of her body. She might as well be naked. Aye, it would be better to be naked. Aurora smiled. She wanted to please the stag man, to make him want her. She began to undress slowly, languidly, as he watched. She undid the tie at her waist and draped it around her neck. Then she slid the gown down her body, baring her breasts. She cupped them in her hands, feeling their silken fullness, caressing the nipples, which appeared dark against her fair skin in the full moonlight.

  She slid the dress down further, pausing tauntingly at her hips. She stared expectantly at the stag man. She could not see his face, but she saw the trickles of sweat down his broad muscular chest and heard his harsh gasp of passion. The dress tumbled carelessly on the ground, and Aurora’s body was bare, shining like marble in the pale light. She pulled her long hair forward, draping it over her, as if to cover her nakedness. The stag man shook his head, and Aurora smiled teasingly at him. She couldn’t believe that she was doing this—it was as if the spirits had entered her!

  The stag man stood still, his proud, battered body gleaming even in the half-darkness. The sound of music came hauntingly from the circle of fire, and Aurora began to follow the faint rhythm, swaying her hips slightly to the beat of the drums, then moving faster, her shoulders picking up the melody of the pipe player. The stag man didn’t move, but Aurora could feel his eyes upon her, hot and searing. She moved even faster, turning now to display the shape of her buttocks as she writhed with the music, tempting him with the promise of the ecstasy she could offer him with her blazing, naked flesh. Her long hair twirled around her, wilder and wilder. She was on fire, she was aflame, and this man-god represented the watchers, the worshipers. Soon he would try to leap through the flames, and she would catch him, and pull him down into her fiery, passionate heart!

  The stag man moved closer, close enough to touch her, but still far enough away so that she could not see into the eyeholes of his mask. He reached out to grasp her, stopping her furious dance with an iron-like grip around her waist. Aurora closed her eyes, waiting for him to kiss her, to take off his mask and let her see his face. No kiss came. Instead, he stroked her gently, moving his gloved fingers along her body. The texture of the leather on her skin made Aurora swoon. Now he was teasing her! She wanted to feel bare skin upon her own, and she pressed herself to his hard, sweaty chest desperately, burying her face against his skin, tasting him hungrily.

  He seemed to take pity on her, for when next he caressed her, his fingers were bare, flicking over her in tense exploration. Aurora sighed rapturously, and moved to kiss him, but still the mask blocked her way. She reached up, as if to pull it off, but he took her hands firmly in his own and pressed her down—down, down, softly, onto the wet grass. She took him in, all of him, heedless of the mask and the dampness beneath her, unaware of anything except his powerful hardness within her. Her body seemed to split open in flashes of light, echoing deep within her. She was a cave of mystery, opened for the first time. She felt no fear, no pain—only stark, profound pleasure.

  The thought of Maelgwn nagged at her, but she pushed it away. Aurora could hear the harsh breathing of her lover close to her ears, and felt the tension within him increase with each convulsive breath, each violent lunge within her. She reached to touch his face, and caressed bare, slippery skin—the mask was finally gone. But Aurora could not open her eyes and look upon her lover yet—the excitement was growing within her own body once again. Aurora spread her legs wider, desperate for the deep probing touch of the stag man, silently begging him to take her to oblivion, to pierce her heart with his passion. She felt her body exploding into another flash of white, hot light. This was it.... she had reached it... something...

  Aurora collapsed onto the soft earth and lay breathless and still. She was afraid to open her eyes and break the spell that held her. She knew the stag man was still there; his low, rhythmic breathing was very near. Aurora opened her eyes. The mask was gone, and she could see the face of a man next to her. His eyes were closed in exhaustion, and his hair was wet with sweat. Aurora started as she realized she was looking at her husband.

  Her eyes swept over the figure beside her. Why hadn’t she known? How could she not have known? The lean, splendidly muscled body, the tapering, sensitive fingers, even the slight angle of his erection—it had been Maelgwn’s body that filled her with such strong desire. No wonder it had been so good, a part of her mind seemed to say—he was the one... the one she loved.

  Even as she watched him, Maelgwn’s eyelids fluttered and he opened his eyes to stare back at her. His face wore the mask that she had seen so often before—cold, ironic, inscrutable.

  “So, you prefer the god to the man,” he said softly.

  His mocking voice unnerved Aurora, and all tenderness and lingering desire left her. “You tricked me!” she said accusingly.

  “Aye, and it was not hard to do. You were so eager for me to be Cernunnos—the horned one. You were so eager for me to be someone besides your husband.”

  Aurora stood up abruptly and began to look for her clothes. “Do not come to me as a god again,” she said coldly as she pulled on her gown. “Do not come to me at all,” she whispered in a harsh, choking voice.

  As Aurora disappeared into the darkness, Maelgwn felt the sharp pain of regret. He had not meant to hurt her. Nor had he meant to trick her. After his part in the ceremony was over, he had wanted only to find Aurora before some other man claimed her. He had been so relieved to find her alone in the darkness, and she had stared at him with such awe and naked desire that he had forgotten himself and decided to play the role of Cernunnos a little longer.

  It had not mattered that she surrendered to him thinking he was a god. It had been his body which made hers quicken with pleasure, not the god’s. What had passed between them was as intense and passionate as ever. But now she was angry, bitter, as if he had betrayed her. Oh, how he wanted to call her back and explain his feelings. But he dared not. He would not risk her mocking contempt again.

  Chapter 23

  Aurora guided the horse down the path past the village. She
had forgotten her cloak and been soaked in a sudden rain shower as she rode in the valley. Even though she was in a hurry to get back to the fortress and change her clothes, she could not resist riding past the cluster of rude huts, hoping for a glimpse of the blond woman called Morganna.

  Aurora sighed. She wondered if Maelgwn still went to Morganna. He had not shared Aurora’s bed since before Lughnasa, and although Gwenaseth told her that the king slept on a cot in his office, she could not be sure it was true. Why did she care? It was only a matter of time until Maelgwn sent her back to Viroconium anyway. The marriage was over. Maelgwn avoided her completely. She didn’t even see him at meals anymore. Perhaps that was just as well—she wouldn’t have been able to touch a bite with her husband in the room.

  The sick longing began again in her stomach. It was true. She cared for her husband, maybe even loved him. She dreamed about Maelgwn almost every night. Sometimes she woke and cried when she found herself alone. She made excuses to go places in the fortress where she would see him—even though the very sight of him made her stomach pitch and her body ache with desire.

  Aurora shook her head. It was too late. She had ruined things with Maelgwn, and she had no idea how to make things right.

  “Good day, Queen Aurora.”

  Aurora started as an old woman stepped in front of her on the narrow pathway. She nodded back politely and flashed a warm smile.

  The old woman did not move off, but remained firmly rooted, blocking the pathway. Aurora would either have to turn back or confront the old crone and ask her to move.

  “My lady,” the woman spoke in her strange voice again. “Your gown is wet—won’t you come and dry yourself by my fire?”

  “It’s but a short ride to the fortress,” Aurora protested, pointing up the track.

  “Someone so young and pretty should not risk catching cold. Come, my fire is already blazing, and I will make you some warm broth.”

  Aurora studied the woman carefully. Her cheekbones had a distinctive, foreign cast, and her dark eyes were as bright as jet. But despite her riveting gaze, she seemed frail and sickly. Her body was tiny and stooped, her face, thin and weary. Aurora decided that there was no harm in accepting the pitiful creature’s hospitality.

  “I guess I could stop for a while,” she answered.

  She dismounted and tethered her horse to a tree, then followed the old woman across a muddy, offal-strewn clearing to a small wooden hut. Aurora felt a shiver of apprehension as she stared at the tiny door. She would have to bend down to enter, and she could not help recalling childhood stories of ancient fairy folk who lured unsuspecting mortals to the underworld.

  Despite her doubts, Aurora pushed the hide door aside and went in.

  She was surprised to find that the dwelling was tidy and comfortable. The room was furnished with a small bed, a table and two stools by the fire. Aurora wondered where the furniture had come from. Perhaps the woman wasn’t as poverty-stricken as she had appeared. Aurora noticed that the walls were hung with bunches of dried herbs and flowers, and she recognized some that were used for healing. Perhaps the woman made her living selling herbs, she mused. Then a darker thought crossed her mind-—the little creature might be a sorceress who used the herbs to cast her spells.

  The woman seemed to sense Aurora’s nervousness.”Don’t be afraid, Lady Aurora,” she said as she pointed to a stool by the fire. She turned to tend to her cooking pot and in a few moments held out a cup of steaming broth.

  Aurora took the offered cup and smiled back uneasily.

  “What is your name?”

  “Justina,” the woman answered in her clear, bell-like voice.

  “That’s a Roman name.” Aurora said in surprise. “Do you have Roman blood?”

  Justina laughed. “Aye, you might say that. My grandfather was a Roman soldier who stayed behind when the legions left Britain, and my mother grew up near Deva, at the old Roman fort there.”

  “But why are you here? Most Romans left this part of Britain years ago.” Aurora stopped, realizing that her question was rude. It was none of her business where this woman chose to live.

  “I was once in love with a man who lived here—a Cymru—and after he died, I decided to stay.”

  “I’m sorry,” Aurora said sympathetically. “Did he die in battle?”

  “It was a fever that took him.” The old woman’s face had grown misty and strained, and Aurora thought it best to change the subject.

  “And now you live here alone?” she asked politely.

  “Aye—but don’t feel sorry for me. I am free to do as I please. How many women can say that?”

  “Not many,” Aurora agreed bitterly. “Most women are little better than slaves to their husbands.”

  The woman smiled. “Aye, I had heard that you were not happy in your marriage.”

  Aurora got up abruptly, as if to leave, and the old woman made a reassuring motion. “Don’t worry, I didn’t ask you here to speak of your relationship with the king. There is something else I wish to talk about.”

  Aurora sat down nervously, wondering what this woman could possibly have to say to her.

  Justina turned and poked at the fire. The embers flew like stars in the dim room as she stirred the ashes. Finally she spoke: “You went with the king to visit Cunedda of Manau Gotodin, did you not?”

  “Aye.”

  “What was your opinion of the relationship between Maelgwn and Cunedda?”

  “I don’t know—they seemed friendly enough,” Aurora answered hesitantly. “Why do you ask?” “Because I fear that someone at Caer Eryri is plotting with the Brigantes to overthrow Maelgwn.”

  Aurora stared at the old women. “What makes you think this?”

  “When you were visiting the Brigantes, do you remember a man with dark red hair who was close to Cunedda?”

  “There were many men there with hair that color,” Aurora answered impatiently. “What of it?”

  “Because there is a man like that who has been staying near the village, hiding in the woods. I think he is here to spy on Maelgwn... and to meet someone from Caer Eryri.”

  “The man could be any one of a dozen men who were close to Cunedda. There was only one whose name I knew, and that was Ferdic, Cunedda’s son. He is a very tall, handsome man with a lean, graceful build.”

  Justina shook her head. “No, it is not him. This man is lean and tall, but he is certainly not handsome. He has the ugly face of a snarling wolf.”

  “You have seen him yourself?” Aurora asked.

  “Aye, I have seen him. He creeps around in the evening, so that no one will notice.”

  Aurora was growing impatient. “If there is a Brigante spy in the village, who is he meeting?”

  “Can you not guess?” Justina said softly. “Who craves the power of the Gwynedd kingship for herself?”

  Aurora let out her breath in a slow hiss.”Esylt!”

  Justina nodded. “Esylt has always been jealous of her brother. Now she plots to bring him down.”

  Aurora looked at Justina with narrowed eyes. “It is very grave to accuse the king’s sister of treason. What proof do you have?”

  “My proof is here,” Justina said emphatically, touching her withered chest. “I know that there is evil and danger surrounding Maelgwn. I also know what Esylt is capable of.”

  Justina looked deeply into Aurora’s eyes. Her dark gaze was hypnotic, compelling, and Aurora found she could not look away.

  “Do you know the story of Dinas Brenin?”

  Aurora nodded. “It troubles me. I know that Maelgwn was very young... that he did not mean for it to happen... but still, it is so horrible.”

  “It was not his fault! It was Esylt who insisted that the fires be set. It was Esylt who sought to destroy their family so that Maelgwn would be the uncontested ruler of Gwynedd!”

  “How could Esylt order the troops to set the fires?” Aurora protested. “Maelgwn was the commander. The men would surely never listen to Esylt.”
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br />   Justina’s mouth was grim with hatred, and the lines in her face seemed etched in bitterness. “She made him give the order by taunting him, scorning him. Maelgwn was very young then, perhaps sixteen or so, and when she called him a coward and a fool, he gave in to her.”

  “How do you know these things? How can you know what was said and done so many years ago?”

  Justina smiled her faint, haunting smile. “Because I was with Maelgwn afterwards, and he told me.”

  “Why would he tell you? Why would he tell anyone?”

  “Because sometimes secrets and guilt are too heavy to bear alone,” Justina said with a sigh.

  “I don’t believe you! Why would he tell you—a poor old woman—something like that?”

  “Because I was not so old then... and he was a man and I was a woman.”

  Aurora stared at her in shock. “You mean... You are telling me that you and Maelgwn...?”

  Justina smiled sadly. “Is it so hard to believe that I was once young and beautiful like you?” She sighed. “It is this disease I have—it twists my limbs and weakens my spine. If it were not for the herbs I know how to use, I would never be able to stand the pain.”

  Aurora realized abruptly that Justina was not as old as she had imagined. Disease had turned her into this wizened frail creature. Aurora could not help searching Justina’s face for some vestige of her former beauty. Her dark eyes must have been entrancing once, and her long gray-streaked hair was still thick, but the rest of it was gone—horribly distorted by the ravages of time and her crippling disease.

  “You shared Maelgwn’s bed?” she asked in a hushed, disbelieving voice.

  “Aye. It was only for one night, but the pain and guilt was heavy upon him, and he told me what happened at Dinas Brenin.”

  Aurora was silent for a moment, her mind churning. This conversation frightened her. If Justina’s story was true, Esylt was even more wicked than Aurora had imagined. She had always suspected Esylt of treachery, but nothing so evil as this. She looked critically at the tiny woman seated next to her. Could she trust her? She looked like nothing so much as one of the fairy folk.