Shadow Lands Trilogy

by Simon Lister

  Across the Channel Marshes and over the Causeway the three main tribes of Britain gathered in the West at Caer Sulis in late autumn with all their livestock and summer harvest to celebrate Lughnasa and invoke blessings for the journey across the Western Seas. The King of the Britons, Maldred, held his council at that time, where the chieftains and counsellors of each tribe gathered to settle disputes and to plan for the journey ahead. Caer Sulis was the king’s seat and by far the largest settlement in Britain. Andala remembered the first time Caja was old enough to take it all in; the look of wonder on her face as she gazed at the two storey stone buildings and the wide streets between them still made him smile.

  There had been serious trouble with one of their guards on a previous journey to Caer Sulis some years ago on one of the rare occasions when Arthur’s war band had escorted them. Andala had worked up his courage and gone to see Arthur to remonstrate. Arthur had asked him some short questions then summoned the guard involved. Andala could not remember the man’s name and he frowned, trying to recall it. Arthur had questioned the man and woman concerned in front of Andala and then without hesitation he had drawn his sword and killed the man where he stood. It did not seem right that he could not even remember the man’s name. Brynstan? Berwyn? No, but something like that. It did not seem right that he should feel guilty about the man’s death either, yet he did. Andala was lost in thought. That was the day he first met Arthur in person. This was to be his last.

  ‘His name was Breagan and neither you nor yours have had any trouble since from any warrior.’

  Andala started, Arthur was standing no more than five-feet away and staring into his eyes. Arthur’s horse snorted and stamped the ground, shaking the water from the ford off its fetlocks. Andala stared at Arthur half in fear, half in bewilderment.

  ‘No Arthur, no trouble since.’

  ‘It wasn’t a question.’

  Andala swallowed in a suddenly dry throat. Arthur stood a head taller than he did, and Andala was not considered to be a short man. Arthur’s long black hair was straggled and his beard was unkempt. An ugly white scar ran from his broken nose to below his right ear. That wasn’t there the last time I saw him, Andala thought as he felt another unbidden well of unease rise inside himself. The fear wasn’t prompted by the war gear that Arthur carried – the longbow strapped to his horse, or the round shield slung across his back, nor even the sheathed sword idly hanging from his belt although all these were uncommon enough sights in the villages. He feared the man standing before him; he feared his staring eyes, gray and empty of life. That was how he remembered Arthur’s eyes during the questioning of Breagan in Caer Sulis, empty and flat, lifelessly staring as he judged guilt and punished with death.

  Arthur spoke again and life returned to his eyes, ‘How’s your daughter, Caja?’

  Andala fell into step with Arthur as he made his way toward the East Gate of the village. He was aware that Arthur was making a conscious effort to make him feel more relaxed but the casual tone just made him feel all the more nervous and he replied, ‘Well, Arthur, well thank you.’

  ‘How old is she now?’

  ‘She’s seventeen this Imbolc, seventeen times she’s made the journey west,’ Andala replied.

  ‘Married yet?’

  ‘No, Arthur, n-not yet,’ Andala felt his anxiety rise another level and tried to lighten his tone saying, ‘I think she was rather hoping Cei might be coming to take us west.’ He regretted it as soon as he said it.

  ‘Indeed? Cei has married my sister, Trevenna.’

  Andala mentally brought his fist to his forehead and blurted out without thinking, ‘Excellent news, she’ll be glad to hear it.’

  Arthur turned to look at him and smiled, ‘I doubt it, Andala. I very much doubt it.’

  They were approaching the gate now and most of the four hundred villagers had crammed themselves into the open square at the centre of the village to see Arthur enter. Andala did not want his people to see him nervous or silent with Arthur and forced himself to ask, ‘Was it a good journey here, Arthur?’

  Arthur looked at his horse and grinned, ‘Not with this bastard it wasn’t.’ The horse just raised its upper lip in apparent derision.

  Arthur stopped on the edge of the square and casually scanned the gathered villagers. They were completely silent. He handed the reins of his horse to the nearest person and said, ‘See that it’s fed and watered.’

  Andala gestured to the main hall and the crowd parted as Arthur strode towards it. Andala followed behind with the villagers standing and staring at Arthur as he passed through them.

  When he had entered the hall and was safely out of earshot, the noise of conversation started up once more as the dispersing crowd began to recount the tales they had heard of the Wessex Warlord. They went back to their allotted tasks swapping stories of Arthur as they made ready for the journey to the West.

  Breward and Jac decided to take an early break and get some food before the midday bell signalled it was time to eat. It would only be for a day or two but while the populations of five villages were confined to this one place it was all very cramped and meal times inevitably became chaotic.

  It was sunny and still fairly warm so the trestle tables were set up outside to serve breads and fish for everyone and they sauntered across to the one that seemed most prepared for the midday meal. It also happened to be the one that Jac’s wife Bri was preparing.

  She saw them approach, ‘Had a busy morning of it then, Jac?’

  ‘Usual chaos – but as always, it’s getting there,’ replied Jac, helping himself to some bread and cheese.

  ‘Luckily Anda’s daughter, Caja, was there to organise us,’ Breward said, keeping a straight face. Jac just grunted.

  ‘Well, that kept you happy then,’ Bri said pointedly to Breward and continued, ‘though I’ve no idea what she sees in you.’

  He poured himself a drink from a flagon of water and said ruefully, ‘I don’t think she sees anything in me at all sadly. Ever since that Cei took us back home from Caer Sulis after Imbolc she’s had moon dreams running around in her head.’

  ‘Well the sooner she wakes from them the better. It’s never done anyone any good getting messed up with that type – though Cei seemed more civil than others,’ and she glanced across at the main hall.

  ‘Do you think there’s any truth to that story about Ceinwen being with Arthur when she was with the Wessex war band, before she married Andala and moved across here?’ Jac asked tucking into the food.

  Bri stared at him with pursed lips.

  ‘Probably not, just asking,’ he added hurriedly, noticing the disapproval on his wife’s face.

  ‘That was all a very, very long time ago. And you should know better than to go dredging up gossip,’ Bri said in a tone that clearly closed the subject.

  ‘I don’t suppose that Andala is enjoying his midday meal much. A war band leader! For us! And Arthur of Wessex at that,’ Jac said round a mouthful of bread and cheese hoping to distance himself from his wife’s scorn.

  ‘Don’t talk with your mouth full,’ his wife replied automatically.

  ‘Makes me nervous just knowing he’s here, let alone poor Andala having to sit and talk with him,’ Breward said.

  Jac resumed, having swallowed his mouthful of bread, ‘Why Arthur? Why here? A few from a war band to protect us against any Uathach looking to raid our supplies, fine, but a warlord? And of all the warlords to have, did it have to be Arthur of Wessex?’

  ‘Perhaps he’s come to take your little redheaded Caja away with him,’ Bri suggested to Breward.

  ‘Don’t even joke about that kind of thing. I wouldn’t let him,’ Breward replied. The other two laughed out loud. Breward looked offended but did not reply.

  ‘Now clear off the both of you, I’ve got work to do here and you’d better make sure those wains are perfect, Jac – I don’t want to have to defend you from that monster in there,’ and Bri nodded to the main hall.

  ‘Li
sten well young Breward, if my wife doesn’t want to cross our guest and protector then you’d be truly out of your depth. At least the Uathach won’t try to raid us – once they see Arthur with us they’ll turn around and find a softer train.’

  They both ambled off to find a quiet place to finish their meal and Bri continued slicing the bread and laying out fruits. They were right about the Uathach, the lawless roamers from the northern tribes of Britain, but it was not the Uathach who were making their way towards the village.

  *

  Arthur looked around the main hall. It was large by village standards, almost seventy yards long and over thirty wide. The far end was raised and there were heavy wooden tables down each side. A small fire burned in a circular hearth in the middle of the hall with various spits and cooking implements lying around it. Most of the smoke was channelled out of the hall by a wide funnel suspended above the hearth pit. Five or six people were moving up and down the tables beginning to make the preparations for the Lughnasa festival. Arthur unslung his shield and unbuckled his sword, propping them against the lower hinges of the heavy double doors of the main entrance. He unfastened his travelling cloak and put it on a hook above his weapons. Seeing the washbasin he ducked his head under the water and shook the water free then scrubbed the dust and dirt of the road from his hands with the washing stone.

  ‘Would you like something to eat first Arthur, or would you rather rest?’ Andala asked.

  ‘Some food first, you can tell me about your preparations,’ Arthur replied and started to walk up the hall to the raised main table where three figures sat waiting for him. There were wooden slat-covered windows down each side of the hall. Although those on the West side were covered, the low sun shone through the open windows on the East side sending smoke-lit shafts across the hall. Those at the table watched Arthur approach as he alternated between the shadows and the shafts of light. They stood as he reached the table.

  ‘Greetings, Arthur of Wessex,’ Ceinwen said, managing to keep her voice strong and steady.

  There was an uneasy silence around the table as Arthur studied her. Ceinwen was a strong-willed woman and she held his gaze for as long as she could but eventually her eyes flicked away and settled on the food laid out on the table before defiantly returning to meet the gray stare. They were in the shadows but even in the filtered sunlight, and the soft glow from the candles that were set at either end of the table, he noticed how much older she looked; grey streaked her shoulder-length brown hair and her thin face carried the lines of the intervening years. Her sharp features had softened little with age and Arthur was pleased to see that her eyes still held some of the fire he remembered. Twenty years had passed and in that time they had exchanged no more than the obligatory pleasantries that their infrequent meetings had necessitated.

  Andala watched them both but, like the others, felt unable to intervene to break the silence; whatever the silence meant, or whatever either of them were thinking, everyone else was excluded. He had never felt so distant from his wife.

  ‘Some food and drink?’ Ceinwen finally asked, gesturing to the food laid on the table.

  ‘Thank you, Ceinwen, blessings on your homes and families,’ Arthur completed the formal greetings and they all sat and began to eat. Arthur continued, ‘The years begin to tell on you, Ceinwen. Are you well?’

  ‘As well as the years allow, Arthur. It’s been many years since we last spoke and I’m not Merdynn,’ her eyes held Arthur’s and the others stopped eating at the mention of Merdynn. Merdynn was the King’s Counsellor, every successive King’s Counsellor and a great deal of suspicion and myth surrounded him. Arthur was known to be one of the few whom he counted as a friend and the two had often been seen travelling together or deep in conversation at the great feasts in Caer Sulis. The villagers told their young sons and daughters that the two of them met to decide punishments for those children that had behaved badly but in truth many of the adults wondered if they weren’t the ones being judged.

  The tension increased as Arthur continued to study Ceinwen. Finally, he answered her, ‘Merdynn outlived your father. He’ll outlive you. He’ll outlive your child but don’t think the years don’t weigh on him heavier than on any other.’ Arthur’s tone lightened as he continued, ‘Besides, Merdynn has always looked as old as the seas and I certainly don’t remember him dancing to the Bard in the Great Hall of Caer Sulis, unlike you, Ceinwen. Many years have passed since then, for us all, eh Narlos?’ Arthur said turning to the old warrior who sat to his left quaffing down a mug of beer.

  ‘Far too many. I remember that night in Caer Sulis. Well, some of it at any rate. I was in the Anglian war band back then. Great days.’

  ‘Were they?’ Arthur asked smiling.

  ‘No. No, they weren’t. Constant fighting with Uathach bands. That’s why I spent most of my time drunk whenever I got to Caer Sulis. But I do remember Ceinwen dancing there – that was where you two met wasn’t it?’ Narlos gestured towards Andala and Ceinwen, his aged, liver-spotted hand trembling slightly. Ceinwen wondered if the old warrior was tired of life or just too feeble-minded to realise how thin the ice under him was becoming.

  Andala placed a hand over hers wishing to bridge the distance which he felt had opened between them, and said, ‘Indeed it was. Amongst that great throng and you picked me out. I still don’t know why to this day, Ceinwen.’

  ‘That’s why,’ Ceinwen answered as she poured a beaker and handed it to Arthur.

  ‘And what of you Bernache? Has your apprentice wain-master managed to do as good a job as you used to?’ Arthur asked.

  Bernache was as old as Narlos but he sat a little straighter as he replied, ‘Yes, well, Jac’s still learning of course.’

  ‘Are we on time to start the journey west?’ Arthur asked. He said it casually enough and looked briefly at Andala.

  Andala shot a quick glance at Bernache who nodded, and then he replied, ‘We are. Everything should be finished tomorrow and then we can start.’

  ‘Good.’ Arthur began slicing into a joint of meat and everyone at the table visibly relaxed. Caja came across to the table with an armful of bread. Arthur watched her and his gray eyes became lifeless once again. Andala followed Arthur’s gaze. Arthur sat back in his chair and took another drink from the beaker, his eyes still on Caja. She looked directly at Arthur and then quickly retired back to the kitchen area that was behind the dais.

  Andala cleared his throat and said, ‘We were expecting ten or more of Cei’s warriors, Arthur. Is there anything wrong?’

  ‘Cei hadn’t heard from the Belgae villages so he sent some of his warriors there to see if anything was wrong. He asked me if the Wessex could escort you instead. I came across the Causeway with twenty warriors and I was going to keep ten with me at the Eald villages to the North and send the other ten down here.’

  Ceinwen leaned forward at this news and exchanged a glance with Andala before asking, ‘There’s been no word from the Belgae? We haven’t heard anything from the kingdoms to the East either. There haven’t been any traders coming through for the last few months and it’s usually the busiest time of year.’

  Arthur looked at them both, his food forgotten. ‘No news at all?’ he asked. They shook their heads.

  ‘You brought twenty warriors with you?’ Andala asked, wondering again why Arthur had come to Branque alone.

  ‘Yes, but Eald doesn’t have Bernache, his apprentice, Ceinwen, or you Andala. They weren’t ready. I had to leave those that came with me at Eald to sort out the mess and get them moving. Every year the villages have to do this and every year it’s the same, you’re on time and they aren’t.’ An edge had crept into Arthur’s voice as he spoke.

  Ceinwen remembered the tone and what it used to presage. She hastily tried to dispel it, ‘Well, they have much more to harvest of course.’

  ‘And many more to do it,’ Arthur replied. ‘Next year their chieftain’s son will stay with you for the Gathering. What he learns he can take back an
d teach. If they don’t learn quickly then they can wait behind for the darkness and be damned. There’s worse things in the Shadow Lands than the Uathach.’

  Narlos shuddered and added, ‘Indeed there are. Thankfully I’m too old to ever have to travel in the darkness again.’

  ‘Or perhaps your daughter Caja can travel to Eald and show them how the village of Branque prepares. She’s learnt from you how to organise this business. Then we wouldn’t have to wait until the year after next to see an improvement,’ Arthur directed his comment to Andala but it was Ceinwen who answered.

  ‘She’s only seventeen, Arthur, she’s too young for that responsibility.’ There was a slight quaver to her voice and she didn’t look Arthur in the face, speaking with her gaze on the table.

  ‘Daughters are always too young in their Mother’s eyes,’ Arthur replied.

  ‘Indeed, but seventeen...?’ Ceinwen’s voice trailed away.

  ‘At seventeen you were dancing barefoot in the Great Hall and captivating everyone including the king. Did your Mother think you too young?’

  ‘She did. Perhaps she was right. And I was nineteen, not seventeen, as you well remember,’ Ceinwen said putting down her food. She put her hands in her lap and stared at Arthur but the challenge failed to mask the worry in her eyes.

  There was a brief silence as Arthur went back to his food, ‘Well. Think on it. I wouldn’t suggest it if she wasn’t capable enough but it’s a mother’s choice. For now.’

  ‘We will Arthur, we will,’ Andala said, not wishing a confrontation.

  Outside the hall they could hear the hour bell being rang. Most villages had a bell of one kind or another with which to ring out the hours. There was usually a rota among the villagers to keep the hourglass, or read the sundial, and the responsibility often fell to those who spun the wool or to those whose turn it was to nurse the young. Twenty-four turns constituted a day and the passage of the days could be followed during the summer by the sundial that each village usually placed outside their main hall. They normally only slept between four and six hours a day during the long summer months but any length of time spent in the darkness of winter was characterised by idleness and long hours of sleep.