The Poisoned Throne: Tintagel Book II

by M. K. Hume

  Constantinus pulled back on the reins of his stallion with such force that the animal reared in protest. ‘Do you want to join her? Your uncle is an animal and, once he’s got you in his power and pulled a child from your body, you will not survive for a further day. Meanwhile, we would be exposed here if we were to waste time on a meaningless burial. I can feel eyes watching our every movement.’

  ‘Why should that stop us from paying our respects to the poor lass?’ Severa retorted angrily.

  ‘Anything that slows us down before we reach Tintagel puts your safety at risk, Severa, so don’t tell me what I should do.’

  ‘I don’t care about Conanus and what he intends to do, but I do care about that poor, innocent creature. She thought she had an opportunity to see the world that lies beyond the village of Glastonbury. She knew nothing . . . but we did. You must have known that the poor girl might be taken, regardless of your precautions. That was the whole purpose in taking me to Tintagel by this circuitous route. She deserves better of us than to have the crows eat the eyes from her corpse.’

  Constantinus dragged his horse to a halt and turned to face the girl, his eyes burning.

  ‘Yes, I did consider her situation. Yes, I decided she was expendable if that would save your life. I have no intention of risking you further by stopping to bury her. Did I think Conanus would give her to his men out of chagrin and spite? No, I didn’t! I probably should have anticipated her fate, but I can’t think of everything. Are you satisfied now, Severa?’

  Severa knew that any argument was fruitless. The maid was dead, so there was nothing more that could be done.

  As Drusus waited for her to proceed, Severa forced herself to sit upright in the saddle. Then, while wiping her eyes on her sleeve, she kneed her horse into movement. No one spoke a word until darkness shrouded the earth and the cloud-filled sky as light, drizzling rain began to fall.

  Earth and sky; sky and earth. Hills that looked like their fellows; streams that hastened down river valleys in a rush to find a hidden sea; these details of the landscape were unchanging and interchangeable and they caused Severa to lose all sense of direction. Only the movement of the sun, with its dawning, its slow climb up the pale sky and then the equally dawdling descent gave the girl any clue as to the direction of the coast and the sea. But the scent of salt in the air, the wheeling gulls and the wide expanses of featureless grasses promised the travellers that the ocean was close by. It was just over the horizon, but still beyond reach.

  Oh, that longed-for sea!

  The coast and Tintagel waited for them in the darkness that enclosed them. By now, Severa had given up all hope of finding Paulus and the Roman column, despite Constantius’s assurances that they were following the spoor of their comrades who must also be within a few days’ march of Tintagel. But the hours of riding and the days of mixed boredom and terror had robbed her of any passion for the journey they had undertaken. She had night terrors about the girl on the reef of stone and felt herself in that stranger’s body. The movement of insects and flies across her frozen face woke her on the first night. She was trying to scream, but Constantinus’s hand was firmly across her mouth.

  Then they rounded the hills and found themselves in a wide, undulating landscape, with the great sea to their right, far away but still visible, and with those same hills on their left. Still there was no sign of Paulus with the column. Perhaps the earth had swallowed them whole?

  The centurion had never travelled to Tintagel or braved these alien lands before, so he had no means of knowing how difficult the terrain might prove to be. He had found that the distant ocean generated powerful winds that dragged at trees and travellers alike, gales that sometimes rendered the mildest of summer nights cold and unpleasant. The trees in this intermediate world close to the coast were twisted like old men huddling away from the strong winds. Coppices of straight-spined trees flourished in those valleys and ravines where the presence of windbreaks formed by the hills allowed them to grow naturally. Constantinus looked around at the arthritic and twisted trees in the open areas and shuddered inwardly at nature’s brutality.

  But he sensed that Tintagel was close. He had heard the defiant screams of sea birds and then, at the height of noon, he had seen two gulls squabbling on the wind like a portent.

  The coast awaited and the pathway to Tintagel would soon appear.

  ‘Lord protect us,’ he murmured involuntarily, without considering Severa’s closeness.

  ‘Why? Are we under threat?’ she asked, her eyes suddenly bright with concern.

  ‘I’m sorry, Severa. There’s no danger at present, but we are close to the coast now and we’ve travelled further south than I had bargained for. Tintagel must be nearby and I’m certain that we’re hot on the heels of our column.’

  ‘If the coast and the column are close, then Conanus must be nearby. He’s running out of time if he’s going to capture me. He must be desperate by now, especially if he’s realised that we captured Cledwyn.’

  Severa’s voice was flat and unemotional. Never a fool, she was well aware that her uncle would do anything to gain control over her. He had risked his reputation, and his life, on succeeding with this desperate gamble. Fully committed, there was no going back for Conanus. He could not return to Armorica without her, so every mile travelled during this night brought the inevitable attack closer.

  Constantinus must also have dwelled on Conanus, because he suddenly halted Severa’s horse by placing one strong hand on her bridle.

  ‘If I tell you to ride, Severa, I want you to dig your heels into your horse’s belly and kick him into a gallop. Immediately! Don’t worry about Drusus and me, just dig in your heels and ride as if the Wilde Hunt was after you. If you should escape, you must head south-west towards the sea and then seek help from one of the crofters or a fishing village on the coast.’ He pointed towards the west. ‘The sea cliffs are in that direction . . . somewhere. And you must be prepared to kill anyone who tries to stop you – anyone at all! Do you have a weapon?’

  Severa lowered her gaze to break the energy that seemed to be crackling between his black eyes and hers. She drew out a long, narrow blade from a scabbard she had secreted under her outer woollen tunic. The blade was slightly curved, like a butcher’s knife, and was equally sharp, but its point was wicked and slightly hooked, so that any wound it inflicted would be cruelly torn when it was removed. Constantinus looked at the vicious weapon with surprise, for this weapon was a killing knife.

  He raised one eyebrow.

  ‘Cael gave it to me before we left Glastonbury. It was his personal knife and he told me he’d carried it for most of his life without ever having to use it on a human being. He believed it possesses good luck for whoever takes good care of it. He called it Calindre, which is a woman’s name, a strange choice, but quite pretty for such a brutal weapon.’

  Constantinus gestured wordlessly for the knife and examined its edge with great care when she handed it to him. The handle was covered with shagreen and the sharkskin made any slipping unlikely, even with palms that were bloodied and wet. The blade itself was very strong and unusually sharp.

  ‘The swords of kings are given names because of their beauty, their workmanship and their rarity. A fair knife, wielded by an ordinary man, can be just as important and valuable to its owner. This blade deserves respect, so keep it close, clean and ready to leap into your hands.’

  With that, Constantinus released his hold on her bridle and they continued on their way.

  After the fugitives had settled down for the night, Cledwyn became feverish and had developed a cough, so Constantinus decided that their captive’s bindings could be loosened while the man was incapacitated. He then ordered Drusus to start a fire in a small cavern the scout had found behind a number of large boulders nestling like sentries at the base of a steep hill. It was the perfect site for a camp, a place whe
re they could warm themselves, sleep in relative comfort and protect themselves from the inclement weather. The cavern itself was reasonably discreet, although a trail ran past it that would permit horsemen to pass the cave in single file.

  As she sat on the floor with her back against the rear wall and her blanket wrapped tightly around her, Severa felt safe for the first time in weeks.

  Despite her exhaustion, she could guess at Constantinus’s thoughts. A dead captive was of no use to the fugitives, so a fire was important if they were to prevent Cledwyn’s condition from deteriorating into a severe illness. Moreover the flagging spirits and health of the three fugitives could be restored through the comfort of light and warmth in the Stygian darkness.

  Severa used the fire lit by Drusus to boil some water and threw in the last of their dried rations. With a sigh of regret at having to use the last of their reserve supplies, she added the wilted greens, roots and wild-growing onions that she had scavenged from the long-overgrown gardens of a deserted farm passed during their earlier travels. Unfortunately, the vegetables were a little mouldy, so, with an apology to her knife for the prosaic use of its killing blade, she scraped away the worst of the rot and chopped the remains into bite-sized chunks.

  ‘Needs must, Calindre! You’ll get a special cleaning after we’ve eaten,’ she promised.

  The small party had full bellies by the time they settled down to sleep. Cledwyn’s face had lost the worst of its pallor and he thanked Severa courteously when she fed him with her personal spoon made from a bullock’s horn. Once fed and rested, the Armorican seemed to be marginally better. Then, with some surprise, she watched as Constantinus tossed a horse blanket to their prisoner so the man could keep his bones warm within its smelly folds.

  The horses had been relegated to a picket line outside the cavern and to one side of its southern approach, successfully blocking off any unannounced approach to the cave from that direction. They were also protected from the worst of the weather by the overhang that created the cave, so they whinnied softly to each other contentedly. For their fodder, Constantinus and Drusus had used their knives to cut down a supply of long grasses from the plain adjacent to the slope. An illusion of safety settled over the campsite.

  While Drusus remained on guard, the other travellers sank into a deep sleep.

  Constantinus shook Severa into wakefulness as the first flags of light streaked through the darkness. The horses whickered companionably as Drusus brought them to the path outside the small cave before securing their reins to a sapling. He stamped his feet to ward off the early-morning chill and blew on to his cold fingers.

  ‘I’ll light the fire,’ Severa volunteered and immediately set about her self-imposed task. ‘All we’ll have to eat is the last of the stew and some hot water, but even that should hearten us.’

  She was surprised when Constantinus permitted this delay as, on previous mornings, he had urged them to be on their way, regardless of the weather or their weariness.

  ‘Rain is on the way,’ he said. ‘It will come on us fast, so drink some of the hot water. It’ll make us feel better if we’re caught out by a storm. We’ll lose all chance of tracking the column if there’s a downpour but, on the positive side, Conanus couldn’t follow us.’

  With the dawning of this new day, the centurion had arrived at the conclusion that he was wasting his time by attempting to predict the actions of Conanus, who was an elusive and unconventional strategist. In future, he would merely take realistic precautions against possible attack.

  Meanwhile, the iron cooking pot had been scraped thoroughly to remove the last of the stew, far more delicious than its unprepossessing ingredients suggested. Drusus was so hungry that he would have used his finger to steal the last traces of gravy from the pot if Constantinus had not been watching. And even hot water without flavouring ingredients warmed the belly and satisfied them as no plain draught should.

  ‘If Endellion could see me now,’ Severa murmured as she sipped at her water and cleaned Calindre until the blade was gleaming.

  Once he had eaten, Constantinus was eager to be gone as usual so Drusus stamped out the fire and the legionnaire collected the horses from the track and walked them up to the cave mouth. As he bent to place the reins under a loose rock, the sound of a loosed arrow sent the companions diving for cover.

  As Severa fell to the ground, she saw Constantinus lying prone near the mouth of the shallow cave. The black fletch of an arrow was protruding from his flesh near the left collarbone. Carefully, and with his teeth bared in a rictus of pain, he began to crawl into the centre of the cave as arrows whizzed around them at body height.

  ‘Father? I’m in here! I’m alive, Father,’ Cledwyn began to scream, but Drusus reacted by hitting him over the temple with the butt of his sword. The young man collapsed on to the ground like a poleaxed steer.

  At the same time, the centurion reached the fireplace and lunged into the cavern. Raising himself carefully, he struggled to his feet.

  ‘Let me look at the wound, Constantinus,’ Severa demanded, careless of her use of his first name. ‘Dear Lord,’ she groaned as she tore away his tunic to expose his chain-mail shirt.

  She couldn’t decide whether fate had been kind to him or not. At the very edge of the shirt’s wide neck, the arrow had entered the centurion’s flesh with some force. Missing bone, the arrow had punched its way through his body, while missing his vital organs and driving its way through the skin of his back. The mail shirt had stopped the arrow from being driven right through his body.

  ‘Can you cut away the arrow shaft at the front? I don’t want to fall on it,’ Constantinus asked Severa through white, bitten lips.

  ‘Drusus? Can you do the same at the back? Shite, we don’t have time for this. Conanus will be here within minutes.’

  Then he groaned as Drusus cut around the shaft at the arrowhead before snapping it off.

  Following his lead, Severa tried to do the same but her fingers lacked Drusus’s strength. Without hesitation, the legionnaire pushed her out of the way and snapped off the fletch himself. Now, if he was to have a fall, he might avoid the crippling agony of collapsing on to either end of the arrow. The only real advantage was that the shaft prevented bleeding from both the entry and exit wounds. With a grimace, he tried to raise his shield.

  Fortunately his left arm still worked, although blood seeped slowly from the wounds. Severa padded them with wads of cloth, then poured the last of the water over the hot coals that Drusus had failed to extinguish. The lingering traces of heat hissed as the fire unwillingly died.

  ‘There’s a bow and a sheaf of arrows on my horse, Drusus. Do you still have your spear? We’ll need every weapon we have when Conanus arrives to reinforce his scout.’

  When Drusus broke cover and crawled towards the horses, he raised his body to retrieve the bow and quiver from Constantinus’s saddle. Suddenly, a fusillade of arrows whizzed by his head, forcing him to take cover with the bow and a full quiver of arrows firmly gripped in his hands. Then, after he had retrieved the stabbing spear, Drusus snaked his way back to Severa and the centurion.

  ‘You’ll need to use the bow, Severa. Have you used one before? Don’t bother trying to string it because it’s far too powerful. Drusus will do it for you. But do you know how to draw it and aim the weapon?’

  The questions were rapid fire, but Severa took the strung bow and began to draw it experimentally.

  ‘Of course I can use it. Mother Endellion insisted that I learn some means of self-protection and we held regular challenges at Corinium. I’ve never killed anything, not even a rabbit, but I’ll cheerfully shoot at anyone who tries to touch me.’

  For once, Severa felt gratitude to her long-dead father for the powerful physique and broad shoulders that he had bequeathed to her through his bloodline. She neatly notched an arrow to show that she was capable of relea
sing a barb when the need arose.

  ‘Good! Now stand at the back of the cave in the shadows,’ Constantinus ordered. ‘Remember what I said about escaping if it proves to be possible, but you’ll have to force yourself to kill one or more of Conanus’s men to do it.’

  His burning eyes were fixed on her face. ‘Think of your maid and the corpse that Conanus left for the scavengers and you’ll find you have the nerve to kill the bastards who committed that evil deed. Keep that picture firmly in your mind and don’t hesitate. Hesitation means death, because Conanus won’t give you a second chance.’

  He coughed harshly, before wincing from the pain of his wound. ‘And don’t worry about us. Drusus and I can look after ourselves. We’re partially exposed here, but they will have to mount an attack if they want to capture you. They won’t use bows in the cave, because he knows that you and his son are here, and both of you are vulnerable to his arrows. But there are no such limitations on us. Shoot straight, Severa! Drusus and I will be depending on your firepower to slow the attackers down and stop at least two of them. We can take care of the rest of Conanus’s men if God is with us.’

  Severa nodded. She was so frightened that her fingers were beginning to tremble.

  ‘Remember! You must think of what those animals did to your serving woman and how frightened she must have been if you begin to have any doubts. Remember her fate and avenge her!’

  Severa went to her assigned station against the inside wall of the small cavern. Drusus used one of the outer walls for cover on the left side of the cave entrance, while Constantinus dragged Cledwyn to another irregularity in the cavern wall on the right side. Once again, Conanus’s son found himself firmly bound and unable to move. Nor could he yell, for a length of dirty cloth had been shoved directly into his mouth.

  Both Constantinus and Drusus were standing now with their shields at the ready, and each had his gladius poised and ready.