by M. K. Hume
If he was the perpetrator of this assassination, he must have decided to become the ultimate High King of the Britons and, if his men should capture Severa, he would have her married off to one of his sons. Later, he would ensure that there was an unfortunate accident so that he could assume the throne as the regent for the child who was a result of that union. Later still, he would have the child murdered and become the High King by right of blood. Who would stand against him? He would rule Britannia and Armorica, and his growing strength would make him a clear threat to the Romans, whose hold on Gallia was weakening daily.
Her silent thoughts spun inside her head like the portents from a seer. Severa was at great risk. Endellion had no hesitation in putting her feelings of loss and doubt to one side as she finalised the packing.
Pridenow surged out of a night horror, his eyes wide with fright and his screams echoing within his own ears. Fortunately, these vivid dreams faded quickly.
As if by magic, his mother suddenly appeared in his doorway.
‘Hush, darling boy, there’s nothing here to frighten you.’ She took him in her arms and snuggled into his narrow pallet so she could hold him tightly. ‘Can you remember what you were dreaming about, sweetling? Night terrors don’t really mean anything and they rarely come true, so you have nothing to fear.’
‘I feel sick,’ the boy responded with what she knew was the residual horror of the dream.
‘There’s no need to worry, darling. I had many frightening dreams when I was a child, but most of them never became true,’ Endellion lied. Better to avoid the truth while her son was so young, rather than terrify him with this grotesque gift he had inherited from her bloodline.
‘Severa’s in trouble, isn’t she? I’m sure of it, because I saw three men surrounding her. They were holding her tightly so that the bad men couldn’t take her away. Don’t let her be hurt!’
‘Hush, darling boy,’ Endellion repeated, while she stroked his hair.
‘The first man is already here in Corinium, Mama. He’s the Roman who came to the villa with the dead man who was supposed to marry Severa. You know the man I mean.’
‘Is he the centurion?’
‘I think that’s the man,’ the boy answered sleepily. His mother’s warmth was soothing his anxiety and he began to drift back into sleep, even as he was speaking. ‘I don’t really know what a centurion is, but the other Romans obey him.’
‘His name is Constantinus,’ Endellion answered.
‘Yes. He was wearing a crown and a funny band of leaves around his forehead, but I don’t think he’s a king. Is he a king, Mother?’
‘No, he’s not.’ Endellion tried to school her voice to remain in the soft croon of a mother.
How could Constantinus, as a Roman of no birth and damned little prestige, become a king? Could it happen through Severa? The laurel crown was reserved for those few men who attained the position of emperor, so this was highly unlikely. The Romans would never elevate a landless man of no gens to such heights; Pridenow’s dream was just as it seemed – the strange rambling of a child’s brain.
‘I liked him, Mother. Did you know that he also has a son like me! His son was also in my dream, but I can’t remember his name. He wore a crown too, but . . .’ The boy’s voice faltered, for he suddenly remembered something else that terrified him. ‘But someone had hurt him. Someone had cut his throat and he was still bleeding.’
‘It was just a dream, sweet boy, so try to go back to sleep.’
‘I remember the other men now,’ Pridenow said suddenly. ‘They were horrible, Mother, and they were trying to carry Severa away. One was an old man with white, curly hair. He was looking at me as if he hated me, and he told me I would become the Father of the She-Dragon. What did that mean?’
‘No one hates you, Pridenow. If anyone did, your father would kill them as quick as can be, just to make sure we keep you safe.’
‘Truly?’ Pridenow asked in a childish treble.
‘Truly!’ Endellion replied with feigned confidence.
‘The other man was a bad man! He was a Briton, and I could see that he had long black hair and a pointed beard that looked like the blade of a spear. He was wearing a crown.’
‘Did the old man with the white hair wear a crown?’ Endellion asked, hardly daring to breathe.
Pridenow thought hard.
‘No! I could see all his hair, so he wasn’t wearing a crown. He wasn’t a king.’
Endellion sighed with relief. If the child’s dream held truth, Conanus would never become High King and her beloved island might still be spared from his depredations.
‘I don’t want to think about the dream any more, Mother. I don’t want to remember that poor boy with his cut throat.’
‘You’ve been very brave, my darling boy, so it’s time to go back to sleep now. You can wake early enough to say your goodbyes to Severa because she’s going on a visit to see your uncle, King Cadal, at Tintagel Fortress.’
‘Is she going with the centurion?’ Pridenow asked, yawning.
‘Yes, darling. The centurion will protect her during the journey to Tintagel.’
‘That’s good, then! Severa will be safe with him to guard her.’
Before Endellion could stir on the warm pallet, the boy had dozed off with both fists curled together under his chin.
The midday sun had come and gone while Constantinus and his troop waited impatiently for Severa to join them. The first wagon had been packed with the clothes, gifts and luxuries that Severa would need for this journey, while the second wagon had been laden with supplies for Constantinus’s column of foot soldiers and cavalry. Eventually, the king and queen followed Severa into the courtyard where they could bid farewell to their departing guests.
Constantinus’s horse was showing an obvious eagerness to be gone, and he had to maintain a tight grip on the straight bit.
He decided not to embarrass his royal hosts by forcing them to look upwards at a mere centurion, so he dismounted to make good his farewells. Aeron inclined his head respectfully to acknowledge the gesture.
‘My foster-daughter has already made more than her share of farewells to her siblings, my wife and all the servants, so I believe she has no further excuses to delay her departure. Could I ask you to assist her into the wagon, sir?’
Endellion winced at Aeron’s jest. She had yet to share her misgivings with her husband, but she was concerned at the thought of Severa and Constantinus thrown together during their trek to the coast and safety, a journey that could take as long as a week or more. She felt no surprise when Severa blushed as Constantinus offered her his hand.
‘Mistress?’ the centurion began. ‘The roads will be a little rough along the route we’re taking, so I’m afraid the journey will be less than comfortable in places. You’ll have to make sure you wear a hat and a veil if the horses’ hooves raise large clouds of dust.’
Constantinus realised he was babbling as soon as Severa’s eyes met his. She accepted his assistance to climb up to the crude wooden seat beside the driver, who had constructed a light canopy over the seat to provide some shade.
Endellion felt her eyes prickle with tears as she waved up to her foster-daughter. ‘Go with God, sweetheart. Give my love to my brothers.’
‘I will, Mama Endellion. Goodbye, and don’t forget to ensure that Pridenow takes care of my dog.’
All her sulks and complaints of the previous night had been completely forgotten in the excitement of this unexpected journey.
Constantinus remounted and nodded towards Paulus, who issued the command to march. As usual, each of the infantrymen carried his shield on his back with full packs containing every item of equipment that these fighting men might need to survive in wild country where danger could be waiting in every copse of trees. At Constantinus’s instructions, Paulus had war
ned the men that this particular journey could be threatened by those same assassins who had murdered their erstwhile commander, so a wary force of forty infantry and twenty-eight cavalrymen marched out of Corinium with Constantinus at the head of the extended column.
As they marched through the cobbled streets of Corinium, the townsfolk came out into the streets to gawk, to cheer or to press flowers and small gifts upon the soldiers. The people of this trading centre knew all too well how much was owed to their Roman overlords.
The king and queen stood on the steps of their villa and waved until the cavalcade was finally out of sight. ‘Well, that’s done then,’ Aeron said with finality. ‘If Conanus plans to capture Severa, he’ll baulk at making an attack on this force of Romans.’
‘Perhaps! Unfortunately, the Conanus I remember would consider an armed century to be a challenge rather than a major obstacle. Oh, I do hope we’re doing the right thing.’
A sudden wind caught at the aspens and stirred their leaves, tearing at the tender new growth and rattling the branches. Endellion watched as several ravens took wing and flew off into the south.
Then, as one particularly strong gust raised dust from the square, Endellion’s veil was torn away and sailed off after them. Like a white bird, its corners flapped and twisted as it climbed in the gusting wind until it became tangled on one of the towers above the gate. It opened to the wind, a veritable flag of surrender to the exigencies of fate.
Endellion stared after it, as if it held some important message within its sheer folds.
‘What else could we have done, woman? If Severa had stayed here, we’d be afraid of the assassin’s knife during the night until such time as that bastard is caught and killed.’
Aeron was unusually curt with his wife, a sure indication of his concern.
‘I know! I know! But I don’t have to like this scheme, do I? Severa is far too fond of that young Roman for my liking.’
Her eyes returned to the flapping veil above the town gates.
‘Don’t worry, sweetheart. Even Caradoc would agree that you’ve done everything possible to protect Maximus’s daughter, so everything that happens from now on must have been determined by her destiny. You’ve told me often enough that fate will confound all our hopes and dreams, regardless of what we humans do to protect ourselves.’
Endellion squeezed his hand to comfort him.
‘You’re right, beloved. Whatever will happen, will happen! Severa is now in the capable hands of Constantinus, so I’m hopeful that everything will work out for the best.’
Yet deep down Endellion was certain that Pridenow’s dream was a message from Fortuna of some future disaster.
Then, as if an invisible hand had gripped it, the gusty wind swept her beautiful veil away forever.
The road that led into the south from the gates of Corinium, that Britons called Fosse Way, was well maintained and perpetually dry, for it had been built atop a ridge of low hills. Most of the going had a slight downhill grade, so the travellers could see the landscape of neat farms, bordered by dry walls of fieldstone that divided the countryside into green and golden rectangles dotted with the white and black of sheep. The adjacent hills were also thick with forest, providing swathes of shadowed coolness that beckoned the marchers towards places of rest as the sun sank lower in the sky.
Severa looked down from her high perch behind the sturdy horses harnessed in the traces. Well cared for, their coats shining in the afternoon sun, the animals seemed indefatigable as they easily pulled the heavy load behind them. Their hooves threw up small clouds of dust which managed to insert its way into every private place of her body. Yet even this small discomfort was new and exciting, because Severa had rarely travelled for any distance from her home.
She had feared that she would be very bored during the journey, but her worries had proved to be groundless. The unrolling scroll of the landscape passed by slowly enough for her to be captivated by the lives of the farmers that she observed at close quarters. She could tell that the livestock fared well within this kindly landscape, where the grass was lush and green and wildflowers grew among the weeds. Even the verges of the road were productive with blackberries growing wild among the walls and fences. Severa longed to dismount from the wagon so she could wander along those same verges.
‘The youngest farm-girl knows more than I do about how to exist outside the four walls of a villa,’ she said to herself.
‘Begging your pardon, mistress? Do you have a question?’ The driver was holding the reins loosely in his hands, but Severa could tell that those muscular fingers would be the equal of any emergency, while his ruddy face was weathered from many years on the road. His sky-blue eyes were bright and startling and she decided that this man would be kindly, so she smiled appealingly at him.
‘I’m sorry for my ignorance, good driver, but I’d like to speak with you during our journey together. Are you permitted to tell me your name? How should I address you?’
The driver, taken aback by her frankness, realised how inappropriate her approach to him would be judged given the wide disparity in their social status. Even the presence of her maid might not save him from punishment. Yet he responded to the friendly approaches of this ingenious girl-woman.
‘My name’s Cael, mistress. Me old da said it means slender, though I’m not so much like me name any more.’ He laughed deprecatingly.
‘It’s a lovely meaning, Cael, and a good British name that’s far better than mine.’
‘Still, Severa has a pretty sound, mistress. The Romans have been here for hundreds of years now, so I wouldn’t be surprised if lots of good British people had a drop or two of Roman blood in them. I’ve heard that your da was a man of importance and great courage.’
‘That’s very kind of you, Cael.’
Severa continued to engage Cael in conversation during the afternoon. She learned many small details about farming life from her driver, for he had been raised on a small-holding near Caer Fyrddin.
When the evening began with its long twilight, Constantinus ordered the troop to halt for the night. His scouts had alerted him to the presence of a river that needed to be forded on the morrow, so he decided not to risk his wagons while the horses were weary after a day’s work. Even after a long march, the troops were still required to dig a ditch around their encampment, and to prepare pits for makeshift latrines, and set up fire pits and tripods for cooking. Stiff in every joint, Severa eased her aching back and climbed down from the wagon, tearing off her protective veil as she reached firm earth.
‘If you need to walk off any stiffness, Mistress Severa, you must stay within the perimeter of the campsite.’
The sudden instruction from Constantinus had come from behind her. The Roman was so cat-footed that she hadn’t heard his approach. Recovering quickly and patting the dust off her skirts, she smiled up at the centurion and stamped her feet to recapture some feeling. ‘The seat is very hard and the wagon becomes quite dusty.’
‘And this is one of the better roads,’ Constantinus riposted with a wry grin. ‘The last part of the road that takes us to Tintagel is supposed to be little more than a goat track.’
Severa smiled in response and began to stroll through the encampment, taking care to keep within the ditch dug by the legionnaires. At a loose end, and momentarily at a loss for words, Constantinus followed her.
‘Do you still believe I’m in any danger, Centurion? My foster-mother sometimes overreacts when she’s concerned for my safety.’
‘My commanding officer would be the very first person to answer you with the well-known cliché that it’s better to be safe than sorry, mistress. Is there any harm in visiting your kinfolk in Tintagel?’
As the centurion’s voice carried a hint of censure, Severa felt herself begin to bridle.
‘I wouldn’t want you to end up in a midden
with a dozen knife wounds in your body,’ Constantinus added. ‘Marcus’s murderers were ugly, determined ruffians who will not hesitate to kill anyone who interferes with their plans. I carried out the interrogations of the whores and other workers who were at the brothel where he was captured, and I was eventually convinced that their final responses were truthful.’
Severa ignored a twinge of warning that told her to remain silent. But her curiosity overshadowed her cautious nature.
‘How can you be sure that the servants didn’t lie to you, Centurion?’ Severa wanted to learn every grisly detail of Marcus’s murder, not out of morbid curiosity, but to satisfy herself that this long journey was necessary. ‘They would hardly wish to incriminate themselves.’
Constantinus grinned mirthlessly.
‘No, the poor beggars never lied to me. At least, not at the end of the interrogation! Few people can resist torture. We all think we can withstand pain, but a red-hot shaft of iron driven into an eyeball will achieve the required compliance on every occasion it’s used.’
Severa gasped with shock.
‘But that’s bestial!’ she exclaimed. ‘How could any civilised person inflict such pain?’
Constantinus halted, so she was forced to pause and then turn to face him.
‘My duty was to discover why my master was murdered in such a vile manner. I consider myself to be a civilised person but, first and foremost, I’m a loyal Roman officer. I would never permit squeamishness to deter me from performing my duty.’
‘I meant no offence, Centurion,’ Severa gasped hurriedly. ‘You surprised me.’
‘I disagree, Severa. You meant exactly what you said,’ Constantinus responded in a clipped voice.
‘I did mean what I said, Centurion, so I apologise for my words. I don’t know anything about torture or political matters at all . . . and I suppose I don’t really want to know. I was irritated after I was sent away to a fortress far from my home against my wishes. I’m still not convinced that such a journey is necessary. But, if you believe that the servants at this brothel finally told the truth after they had been tortured, then I probably need to think again.’