Rise of the Pendragon (Islands in the Mist Book 3)

by J. M. Hofer

  Lady Gwen appeared a moment later. Her hands flew to her mouth at the sight of her husband, who had dried blood all over his clothes. “Dear God, what’s happened to you?”

  He put a reassuring hand on her shoulder and led her toward the house.

  Igerna approached him next. “Welcome home, Father.”

  “Glad to be here. Thank you, Daughter.”

  Arhianna was standing next to Igerna, eager for news as well. She quickly curtseyed. “Welcome home, my lord.”

  “Lady Arhianna, I must speak with you—let’s go inside.”

  Lady Gwen shot Arhianna a look of surprise, as did Cynwal, who was now standing nearby. Arhianna cast her eyes down, wondering if she and Igerna had made a mistake by not telling them about Ambrius. Oh, well—everyone will know soon enough. They did their best to keep up with Amlawth’s long strides as he led them into the hall by the fireplace.

  “Llyg, can you go to Rozen and ask her to bring me some ale?”

  “Yes, Father!”

  “Good lad.” Amlawth smiled and patted the boy on his bottom, sending him off.

  His manner changed abruptly once Llyg was gone. He sat down by the fire, motioning to the rest of them to sit. He looked over at Arhianna. “I did not want to believe you, dear girl, but you were right. I owe you my life, as does Eldol, Duke of Caer Glou.”

  “What’s happened?” Cynwal demanded.

  “Lady Arhianna warned me that Hengist intended to slaughter all of our leaders at the peace council at Ambrius. It was as she said.”

  “Dear God,” Lady Gwen whispered. She glanced at Cynwal, as if she suspected he might have known, but his face was as shocked as her own. She turned on Arhianna. “Why did you not tell us?”

  Igerna intervened before Arhianna could answer. “I’m sorry, Mother. Arhianna asked me if we should tell you, and I said no—that it would only worry you. I honestly didn’t think it would happen.”

  Amlawth put up his hands to stop the conversation. “None of this matters now.” He sat back in his chair, looking twenty years older than the day Arhianna had met him.

  There was a knock at the door, and Rozen came in with a pitcher of ale.

  Amlawth glanced at her. “Thank you, Rozen. You may leave it.”

  Rozen could not hide the look of concern on her face, but did not ask any questions. She set the pitcher and cup down and left, leaving Igerna to pour the ale.

  Amlawth took the cup, drank it down, and held it out for a second pour. The second cup he drank more slowly as he continued his story. “As far as I know, none but myself, my men, and Eldol of Caer Glou managed to escape the slaughter. We, and that treacherous man who calls himself our king.”

  “Vortigern,” Arhianna murmured.

  Amlawth nodded. “Hengist left him unharmed.”

  “But, all of them?” Lady Gwen asked in horror. “There were nearly a hundred chieftains invited to Ambrius!”

  Arhianna felt nauseous. It could have been her own husband who had murdered some of them.

  “If only I could have gotten there sooner.” Amlawth looked as if he were carrying a heavy load of firewood upon his back. “Providence led me to meet Eldol upon the road. He, too, had been delayed. Before we arrived in Ambrius, I spoke to him of Arhianna’s warning. Though he was shocked, as I had been, he said he would remain vigilant and warn as many as he could. Such was my intention, but by the time we arrived, the feast had already begun. Eldol and I sat at the last seats along the tables, close to the door. I told my men to kill anyone who attempted to trap us within the hall. Eldol and I refused ale and kept our weapons within reach. I had but a dagger, and Eldol, nothing but a wooden stake he found and concealed beneath his cloak, for he, like I, had come prepared for talk of peace, not a battle.

  “We had no sooner sat down, when Hengist stood and yelled a command, and every Saxon there pulled out a hidden blade and turned on the Brython who supped at his side. We had no time to warn our brothers.”

  Lady Gwen stared and shook her head, her hands covering her mouth in shock. Igerna seemed to be fighting against something that threatened to burst out from deep within her, her hands grasping each other so tightly that her knuckles were white.

  “We killed as many of Hengist’s men as we could, but oh, how my soul grieves, wishing it could have been all of them.”

  Igerna looked over at Arhianna and her mother, and then back at her father. “What now?”

  He looked over at his daughter with heavy-lidded eyes. “Hengist and Vortigern will rule us all.” He let out a sigh of defeat. “Unless we can find a noble king strong enough to unite all the chieftains of Brython who remain, and then rise up against them.”

  No one said anything else except the fire, which crackled and popped in the hearth, burning like the rage kindled in their hearts.

  ___________________

  1 Prounounced GWEE-ar, RINE-willeth, tih-WAR-weth, and go-LAH-dee-ith

  2 Cynwal is pronounced KHUN-wal

  3 Llygadrudd is pronounced HLIG-ah-druth

  CHAPTER NINE

  Cursed

  Camulos woke at dawn, his head aching from a night of drinking at the tavern. He enjoyed drinking with the locals, but the ale they served was not of the best quality. That will be the next thing I remedy in this town. He pulled on his boots, splashed some water on his face, and went outside for some fresh air.

  After their failure to capture Mynyth Aur for Hraban, he and Aelhaearn sailed back to Gaul, away from the encroaching threat of the Saxon hordes. He had wisely been fastidious in cultivating all his connections there. When they arrived, he called upon a wealthy lord who owed him a favor. He told him he was looking to purchase land. The lord lost no time in arranging a meeting for him with an elderly blacksmith eager to sell his forge. Camulos and the blacksmith decided on a price, and, within a moon, he and Aelhaearn took possession of the property.

  I can’t believe we’ve been here three years already. They had been fortunate. Hraban had never discovered where they had fled. Now, enough time had passed that Camulos felt comfortable assuming he had given up pursuing them. The villagers, knowing nothing of their past, had welcomed them both—Aelhaearn, because he could manage three times the work the former blacksmith had been able to, and himself, for the goods they discovered he could obtain for them. For the right price, there was virtually nothing he could not procure. Since their arrival, he had become the most sought-after man in the village—men wanted to do business with him, and women schemed about how they might snag him for a husband.

  “Morning, Camulos.” A group of men passed by on their way to the fields, lunch buckets and tools clutched in their thick, meaty hands.

  He nodded their way. “Morning.”

  He enjoyed the company of the local men. Simple and hard-working, their routine was the same every day. They worked the fields from sunrise until sundown, went home to their families awhile, and then met in the tavern where they would throw a few games of dice and sing a few songs before retiring for the night.

  Aelhaearn was already hard at work outside the forge, chopping wood. Camulos felt sorry for him. The man never interacted with anyone. He worked all day at the forge, ate a simple supper alone and went to bed at sundown.

  Sympathetic to his plight, Camulos took it upon himself to handle all of Aelhaearn’s affairs. He negotiated shrewdly for his wares and assured he got well paid for them. He often cursed Arawn for the harsh punishment wrought upon the poor man. Mute and impotent, what kind of life can he ever hope to lead? He was certainly not the sort to pursue the path of intellectual or spiritual study, so his days were destined for naught but work. Camulos felt guilty about the injustice, piqued by the fact that he had retained the strength and vigor of youth while Aelhaearn added the burdens of aging to his suffering.

  Ironically, however, Aelhaearn seemed the more content of the two of them. Lately, Camulos had steadily found the days harder to finish. The more his life settled into a predictable routine, the more dissatisf
action crept into his spirit, slowly poisoning his sense of well-being. He had been able to stave it off the past few moons by collecting books and maps to rebuild his beloved library, but now, even that failed to bring him pleasure. His hunger had returned.

  He considered taking a wife, thinking perhaps a woman might quell his restlessness. There were many beautiful and eligible young women he could have, if he wished. This only made him think of Lucia, however, and triggered deep regrets. In the peace and quiet his new life afforded him, many forgotten memories had returned to haunt him. Most vivid of all were memories of Lucia. He felt as if they had been running after him since his immersion in that damned witch’s cauldron, desperately trying to reach him, but he had not heard them calling until now. On certain nights, lying awake in the dark, he felt as if they might turn on him and smother him in his bed. He would sit up, heart pounding, sweat on his brow, and wonder if he were going mad.

  His strange bath had given him physical youth and strength, yes, but it had demanded their equal weight from his soul and precious memories. Though he dared not speak of his struggles or regrets to Aelhaearn, he no longer felt guilty.

  I, too, have been deeply cursed.

  ***

  In the past three years, Camulos had emerged as the voice of the village. Leadership came naturally to him. It always had. He was the one the locals looked to when there was a dispute they could not settle. He made a point of keeping himself apprised of all news in the surrounding countryside as well as anything noteworthy that was happening in Britannia.

  As of late, rumors had been stirring that Ambrosius and his younger brother, Uthyr, were amassing an army to cross back over the channel and avenge their father. Ambrosius and his brother, Uthyr, were the sons of Constantine, the last Roman leader in Brython. It was believed the ambitious Vortigern, advisor to Constantine at the time, had conspired to have Constantine assassinated. Constantine’s eldest son, Constans, inherited the throne and foolishly adopted Vortigern as his advisor. Vortigern repaid him by having him murdered as well, and then seized the throne for himself. King Budic of Armorica, a close relation of Constantine, rightfully became concerned about the safety of the two younger sons, Emrys and Uthyr. To protect them, he arranged to have them brought to his court across the sea in Armorica, where he could protect them. His court lay but a few hours’ ride from the village in which Camulos had settled.

  Think of it—Roman leadership back in Britannia. For the first time in weeks, Camulos felt deep tremors of pride and excitement in his soul. He nearly ran to the forge to speak to Aelhaearn, hoping the news might inspire him as well. He found him hammering horseshoes. “Ambrosius is raising an army to seize his father’s throne back from Vortigern.”

  Aelhaearn did not look up from his anvil.

  “This is how we will achieve glory,“ he continued, “—how we make up for our years of serving mercenaries and tyrants. I believe Ambrosius can unite the chieftains in the west and restore Brython to the heights it held under the Empire.” He paused as a forgotten memory of his days as a centurion jumped into his mind—the moment he had been presented with his vine staff. Ah, to carry a vine staff again! At last, Camulos understood the source of his misery. It called to him from his past, like a candle in a window from a far distance, beckoning him back to the nobility he once embodied. He thought of the past twenty years and cringed. How did I fall so far?

  He put a strong hand on Aelhaearn’s shoulder. “I’m going to join his army, and I think you should come with me.”

  Aelhaearn barely glanced at him and returned to his work.

  ***

  Through his many influential connections, Camulos managed to secure a probatio with one of Ambrosius’ commanders.

  Camulos felt at home the moment he entered the hall. Vestiges of his former life came floating back to him as he was led to meet the commander. The legate was an older man, perhaps fifty, but this could only be guessed at due to his grey hair and the wrinkles in the corners of his eyes. He had the body of a man half his age. He was studying a piece of parchment. Camulos recognized it as the letter written on his behalf to secure the probatio.

  The legate took his time, appearing to read every word, and then looked up. “Camulos. That’s a good Roman name. This says you’ve served the empire before and that you can read and write. Is this true?”

  “I have, and I can, Legatus. I regret to have served the Empire for only a few years before Rome left Britannia to attend to her other concerns.”

  The legate nodded. “I’ll be brief. We can use you, but we leave in two weeks. You’ll be sent advance pay and the name of the man to whom you are to report within three days.”

  “Thank you, Legatus. It is an honor.”

  The legate nodded absently, already absorbed in the next letter he held in his hands. “You may go.”

  Camulos was about to leave, but something prompted him to turn back around. He knew how highly blacksmiths were valued. “Legatus, might I suggest you consider signing the blacksmith of our village?”

  The commander looked up with raised brows. “Blacksmith? Yes, I need good blacksmiths.”

  “Many believe he’s the best in Gaul. I’ve personally fought by his side in many battles and can assure you he possesses talents in combat few men have. I have no doubt he would be a strong asset to your ranks.”

  By the time Camulos was finished, he had convinced the commander to extend the same offer to Aelhaearn. He returned to the village determined to persuade his companion to join him.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The Sons of Constantine

  Arhianna and Igerna sat in the great hall with embroidery in their laps, pretending to be absorbed in their stitches. The most central location in the castle, it was the best place to hear any news that might arrive from abroad. It was a ploy they often used. They hungered for any news of what was happening in the land. Igerna’s servants kept her informed of anything they overheard in the marketplace or the local taverns. She always gave them something in return for their loyalty. Arhianna felt certain they would do anything for her, gifts or not, but Igerna was a firm believer in generosity, no doubt something she inherited from her father.

  Igerna threaded her needle and spoke in a low tone so no one but Arhianna could hear her. “Rozen told me this morning Emrys and Uthyr have landed with a great force of men at Totnes. That’s mere miles from here. It’s said they’ve come to avenge their father.”

  Clearly, Rozen’s information proved to be good, for Amlawth came striding into the hall within the hour, accompanied by his advisors. “Ladies, would you excuse us, please?”

  “Of course, Father.” Igerna stood up and winked at Arhianna, who followed her out of the hall. The heavy doors were closed after they left. Instead of going elsewhere, they lingered nearby until they heard voices, and then pressed their ears to the doors to listen.

  “Emrys has boldly announced his intent to levy justice upon the Vortigern for the wrongs inflicted upon his family and is looking for supporters. Might he call upon you in this respect, Lord Amlawth?”

  “He may, indeed. Constantine was the last great steward of these lands. Tell Emrys I will gladly receive him here, along with all of his men, should he wish to discuss his plans further.”

  “Thank you, my lord.”

  The sound of the messenger’s bootsteps upon the stone floor of the hall sent the girls running from the doors and up the stairs to Igerna’s chambers to discuss what they had heard.

  Igerna looked at her with wide eyes. “Emrys, son of Constantine, returned from Armorica—and he’s coming here! To our castle! Can you believe it?”

  ***

  Within a week of their arrival, Emrys and his brother, Uthyr, arrived at Amlawth’s castle with their men. There was to be a feast held that night in their honor.

  Arhianna was nervous with excitement. Though she was no stranger to men of power, she was used to a rougher sort of court and kingdom, and did not want to do anything that might embar
rass Amlawth or his family.

  “If you have any doubts about what to say or do, just watch me,” Igerna told her, “but, honestly, I don’t believe you have anything to worry about. You always conduct yourself with grace—to tell you the truth, you could pass for the wife of a chieftain.”

  Arhianna thought of Jørren and felt a stabbing pang of sorrow in her stomach. She wished she could share with Igerna the truth of what she had been through, but it was far too dangerous—especially now. For all she knew, she was about to meet the future king of all Brython, and such a past could easily be construed as treasonous.

  “So, what do you think?” Igerna turned in the dress she had made from the dusky rose-colored silk her father had bought her in Calleva. Her hair looked like sunbeams spun into golden blossoms, each perfectly-curled tress pinned to her head with a tiny pin crowned with a jewel. Together, the jewels twinkled like romantic constellations within the universe she had fashioned around her. As a finishing touch, she had chosen a simple necklace of small pearls to wear. It hung right above the smooth cleavage of her breasts, demanding your eyes caress their creamy perfection.

  Arhianna smiled. “I can’t imagine you could possibly be any more beautiful.” Truly, she had never seen a woman as beautiful as Igerna, except Creirwy. Creirwy’s beauty, however, was completely natural. She never did anything to enhance it. She was content with the plainest of robes and wore her hair in whatever way best served what she was doing. Igerna, on the other hand, was masterful at the art of adornment. Every one of her stunning features was augmented by her choice of garments and accoutrements. She had generously employed her talents on behalf of Arhianna, as well. For her, she had chosen a dark green dress the color of holly leaves. “There is simply no better color to sing the praises of red hair than green,” she had insisted. It was elaborately embroidered with beads and gold thread about the collar and cuffs, bringing out the golden flecks in her blue eyes. Arhianna had never before worn a dress so fine.