Chronicle of Ages

by Traci Harding

  ‘Maelgwn!’ Tory caught onto their game. ‘What art thou asking him to do now?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Maelgwn lied, knowing his wife didn’t like him exploiting their son’s talents in such ways.

  Tory watched Rhun like a hawk as he wandered up to the stranger across the room and struck up a conversation. Conan wasn’t very interested in talking to the lad, but that was no matter. Rhun was more interested in what the man was not saying and he only needed to be touching his victim to find out.

  After Rhun had annoyed him with a few unimportant questions, the stranger up and left the room, so the young Prince of Gwynedd returned to his father to report.

  ‘He claims to be an advisor to Aurelius, one Sir Eldred,’ Rhun informed his father, but Vortipor and Brockwell took an interest in the boy’s truthsaying as well. ‘He lies,’ Rhun announced. ‘He is really the son of Aurelius, Conan, here to assess us.’

  Brockwell smiled upon learning of Conan’s deception. ‘I would say we art doing a better job of assessing him.’ Brockwell ruffled Rhun’s hair, well proud of him. ‘Thou art an excellent spy.’

  ‘One more thing,’ Rhun addressed Vortipor. ‘He hast taken an interest in thy wife.’

  ‘What! How dare he …’ The information near sent the Protector into a drunken rage.

  ‘Vortipor!’ Maelgwn stood and grabbed hold of both Vortipor’s shoulders to get his full attention. ‘He has done naught but think thy wife attractive, which I am sure many men have done.’

  Vortipor saw reason and settled.

  ‘Well, actually father, he thought —’

  Maelgwn clamped a hand over Rhun’s mouth to silence the lad and prevent an incident.

  ‘See why I tell thee not to put him up to these things?’ Tory scolded her husband ever so slightly, and Maelgwn nodded to concede that he was in the wrong.

  ‘Let the boy speak,’ Vortipor insisted, until Tory stood to end the subject.

  ‘The boy,’ she stressed, glaring her son down, ‘be going to bed, before he starts a war.’ She motioned with her eyes for Rhun to take his leave, and he did so without further argument.

  ‘Well now.’ Brockwell slapped his hands together resolutely. ‘I think I will go find our dear Sir Eldred.’

  ‘I shall join thee.’ Vortipor moved to accompany his ally.

  ‘Oh no.’ Tory blocked the departure of the two stocky warriors. ‘I shall go.’

  ‘Aw, Tory, thou dost spoil all our fun,’ Calin whined.

  ‘I wast under the impression ye both had better things to do this evening?’ Vortipor and Calin couldn’t argue with that.

  ‘I wast under the impression that so did we?’ Maelgwn contested her ruling instead.

  ‘I shan’t be long,’ she advised them all, turning and fleeing before any could protest.

  Tory found Conan cringing in disgust at the cavorting masses that were gathered around the Beltaine fires of the outer bailey.

  People were dancing and chanting praises to Beli, the Lord of the harvest. Offerings were tossed to the flames in his honour as prime cattle were driven between the fires for purification and fertility.

  ‘Sir Eldred, I presume.’ Tory greeted him warmly, and was surprised when he backed up a few paces, wary of her.

  This woman Conan had heard much about. If even half of what his father had told him of the Dragon’s queen was true, it was dangerous to be anywhere near her. For it was said that Tory Alexander was the instrument of a Goddess who channelled supernatural power through her. She was also the trainer of a handful of key warriors in Briton who had become known as the twelve Masters of the Goddess, or the Dragon’s circle. Their combined feats over the past ten years and their prowess in battle had become so legendary that even in Ravenna he’d heard the reports.

  ‘I did not mean to startle thee.’ Tory took a step toward Conan, and he again stepped away.

  ‘Thee did not.’ Conan informed, and bowed as an afterthought. ‘Majesty.’

  As much as Tory didn’t like to judge a book by its cover, she didn’t like this man. He had the look of an elitist snob about him. His fair hair, skin and pale blue eyes would have made him rather attractive had he not been sporting such a sour expression. Tory suspected that his face might crack if he smiled.

  ‘Can I assist thee in some way?’ Conan inquired, maintaining his distance.

  ‘Perhaps.’ Tory considered how best to phrase her question. ‘The alliance was informed today that Aurelius Caninus will soon be handing over the rulership of Gwent to his son, Conan. And as an advisor to Aurelius, I thought that perhaps thee might be able to tell us something of our new ally’s character?’

  A slight smirk crossed Conan’s face, believing as he did that the great messenger of a supposed Goddess was fooled. So much for otherworldly powers, he thought, looking back to the goings on around the fires. ‘Aurelius Conan will not look kindly upon thy pagan ways, Majesty, that much I can tell thee.’

  ‘Really?’ Tory folded her arms, immediately irked by the tone of his response. ‘And why might that be? Hast he no respect for the beliefs of others?’ Tory sensed the anger building within him, and suddenly regretted that she’d chosen to wear a dress this evening.

  ‘What could such an orgy have to do with the pursuit of spiritual perfection and oneness with the Almighty?’ As soon as the statement left his lips, Conan knew that he betrayed the Briton identity that he had assumed; he must divert the Queen’s attention before she questioned him about his religious preferences, for he remembered little of the native beliefs. ‘Look.’ He pointed to a young lad who was vanquishing a woman at least ten years his senior. ‘The corruption of young boys! Why, that lad couldn’t be more than fourteen years on this earth.’

  Tory looked twice, realising she knew the lad in question. He was Calin Brockwell’s eldest son. ‘Please excuse me a moment, Sir Eldred.’ Tory headed down to reprimand the Prince. ‘Bryce!’

  Bryce cringed as the sound of his Sensei’s voice registered in his brain. He let go of the willing maiden that he’d spent half the night wooing, and resigned himself to the fact that he’d blown it. He should have lured her into the darkness of the fields sooner. As he watched the Queen of Gwynedd stride down towards him, Bryce admired her beauty — what a shame that she wasn’t the woman accompanying him into the fields this night.

  ‘Doth thy parents know thou art out here?’ she quizzed him.

  ‘Father dost,’ Bryce was pleased to inform.

  ‘But not thy mother,’ Tory clarified.

  ‘Hardly,’ Bryce grumbled. ‘She still believes me a virgin.’

  The lad’s statement shocked Tory a little and this must have reflected in her face.

  ‘Ha, ha,’ Bryce chuckled breaking into a huge smile, ‘I made thee think, Sensei, did I not?’ He winked at her.

  Bryce’s gall never ceased to amaze Tory, for he made no secret of the fact that he adored her, and had even informed Maelgwn that he planned to marry her as soon as the Dragon departed this earth.

  ‘Let the lad be.’

  Tory was surprised by the instruction as Taliesin suddenly manifested beside her.

  ‘All due respect, High Merlin, I shall not let the lad be.’ She took Bryce by the arm, whereby he twisted his hand down to take hold of hers.

  ‘It be his time.’ Taliesin gently pried their hands apart, receiving more resistance from Bryce than Tory.

  The tone of the Merlin’s voice let Tory know that he knew something that she did not, and so Tory complied with his wish.

  ‘Off with thee, boy.’ The Merlin repressed a smile as the lad could obviously not believe his luck.

  ‘I shall not forget this, High Merlin,’ Bryce grinned, taking hold of the maiden’s hand and making off with her.

  ‘Aye, that be true enough,’ he chuckled, looking back to Tory.

  ‘Alright, Taliesin, out with it.’ Now that they were alone, Tory’s address became less formal.

  Taliesin held up a finger, putting her off a moment, and h
e turned to observe Aurelius Conan who had been watching Tory intently. As Taliesin took a few steps in Conan’s direction, the soon-to-be chieftain backed up and made haste back into the crowds in the inner bailey. ‘He exhibits all the fear of a pawn of Rome.’

  ‘Well, what dost thou expect? Thee did not have to miraculously manifest beside me,’ Tory scolded, not happy that Taliesin had fed Conan’s fear. ‘Could thee not have walked, like any normal person?’

  ‘The more fear of the Goddess and her people that we instil in that one, the better,’ the Merlin stated, appearing to have a bad taste in his mouth.

  ‘Tell me what you know,’ Tory demanded, completely unaware that Maelgwn was creeping up behind her. She gasped as her eyes were suddenly covered by his hands.

  ‘I have come to claim my due bounty,’ he whispered.

  ‘Maelgwn, please, I was just —’

  ‘Saying goodbye.’ Maelgwn finished the sentence for her, turning her around and bundling her onto his shoulder.

  Tory realised a struggle might dampen Maelgwn’s enthusiasm, and having no desire to do that, she looked back to the Merlin to announce, ‘I want to see thee first thing on the morrow.’

  ‘Maybe second thing.’ Maelgwn turned back to advise the Merlin.

  ‘We shall see what eventuates,’ Taliesin said to himself.

  In an attempt to avoid witnessing any more of the Briton’s unnatural activities, Conan shied away from the main guest area and crept back into the castle via the kitchen entrance.

  ‘Sir Eldred?’ Cara spied him creeping through her food preparation area, and moved to inquire as to what was amiss with him. ‘Can I fetch thee something?’

  His eyes closed at the sound of her voice, for it had a warmth and joyous tone that reminded him so much of another he had loved. ‘Nothing for me.’ Conan turned to behold the Lady Cara and in the brightly-lit kitchens she appeared even more like the lovely maiden, Olivia, whose affections he had pursued in Ravenna.

  Olivia, the daughter of a wealthy Roman senior, had rejected Conan’s advances because of his breeding. But here she was again, transformed into a Briton.

  The Lady smelt like a field of spring flowers, and just as all his being had craved Olivia, Conan found his unsatisfied senses of touch and taste wanting to experience this woman more intimately.

  ‘Art thou sure … a drink perhaps.’ Cara began pouring the mead from a barrel before Conan could decline.

  ‘Thy smile be the greatest feast in this fortress,’ Conan wooed her, to see what kind of reaction he’d get. ‘I retire to my bed a content and happy man.’ He bowed and made to leave.

  ‘What a lovely thing to say.’ Cara was flattered. After ten years of marriage such comments from her husband were rare. Vortipor went on the theory that actions spoke louder than words.

  ‘Surely thou hast heard every praise to beauty that ever there was, a thousand times over?’ Conan turned to face her and slowly backed up a few steps. Would she pursue him?

  ‘Not a thousand times.’ She forced a smile and looked back to her preparations.

  As she didn’t really seem all that enthusiastic about going back to work, Conan suggested, ‘Hast thou seen the fires, Lady?’

  Cara shook her head. ‘Too much to do.’

  ‘I think thou dost deserve a break.’ Conan offered her his arm to escort her down.

  As charming as this young knight was, didn’t he realise that it would be highly inappropriate for her to attend the fires with anyone but Vortipor? ‘My husband shall come for me soon enough,’ she declined politely, moving back into the main kitchen where servants abounded.

  He longed to ask Cara how such a flower as she had ended up married to a rogue ruler like Vortipor. She didn’t seem entirely happy in her role as the first lady of Dyfed and she certainly deserved better than to be ravaged so roughly in public.

  Conan began to fancy that he could take the Lady Cara away from all this. He much preferred Ravenna anyway, and never had any intention of staying in this godforsaken part of the world. He would rule Gwent Is Coed; he just planned to do it from as far away as possible. A conquest or two before I go would be desirable, however … and to return to Ravenna victorious, with a beautiful heathen convert, would certainly impress.

  ‘The Dragon be watching thee.’

  The caution started Conan and he turned to find the boy who’d been pestering him earlier.

  ‘Nothing escapes the Dragon’s eyes, Sir Eldred.’

  The boy accentuated the name, as though he knew it was a falsehood. He had the look of the Dragon about him, dark hair, dark eyes, dark presence. It made Conan shudder to be near the child, and having seen all that he cared to, he made for his father’s chambers without further delay.

  2

  Fort of Fairies

  Months passed before Tory saw a merlin again, and even then it wasn’t Taliesin.

  ‘Selwyn!’ Tory raced to embrace the wandering Druid, whom she had not seen for over a year. ‘What brings thee home to Gwynedd?’

  ‘Unfortunately, a concern, Majesty. I wish it could be otherwise.’ He humbled himself in the wake of her hug, thankful for the mothering comfort that only she gave him. ‘This man be from the camp of Aurelius Conan.’ He motioned to a soldier, quietly awaiting an audience by the door. ‘And what he hast to say will be of interest to thee.’

  Maelgwn entered the west wing gallery and, upon sighting Selwyn, slapped his hands, overjoyed. ‘Praise the Goddess, a real harpist.’

  Selwyn bowed deeply to his King, as did the soldier by the door.

  ‘Why all the long faces?’ Maelgwn’s good mood waned, along with his pace.

  ‘If I may, Majesties …’ The soldier came forward to tell his tale. ‘I am from the camp of Aurelius Conan, and although he shall rule Gwent Is Coed before long, I feel that my first allegiance be to the Goddess and her folk.’ He looked to Tory and bowed his head, reverently.

  ‘Thy devotion pleases the great mother,’ Tory assured him, urging him to continue.

  ‘My master plans to build a new stronghold in Gwent, but his choice of location be a puzzle. The selected site be a place known to the local folk as the Rock of Fortress, a sheer cliff face that rises steeply at the head of the Vale of Neath, Craig-y-Ddinas.’

  ‘What?’ Maelgwn, who was about to be seated, refrained. ‘But Craig-y-Ddinas borders Dyfed.’

  ‘My very thought, Majesty,’ the soldier confirmed. ‘Why build a stronghold on an ally’s border, unless —’

  ‘Unless thou art planning to have to defend thyself against that ally,’ Maelgwn summed up. ‘Hast the man taken leave of his senses! Conan must realise that he could never hope to win a war against the combined forces of four kingdoms.’

  ‘Conan could not have allies in Italy who would aid him in such a conquest,’ Tory informed, ‘as from what I remember of history, Justinian is currently planning the reconquest of the Roman Empire. All Roman forces shall be engaged in a war against the Goths until the final downfall of the Roman Empire about thirty years from now.’

  The information made Maelgwn smile: there was a definite advantage in being married to a woman from the future. ‘But Conan doth not have access to thy sources, so he hast no idea that the Roman Empire be on the verge of a disaster.’

  ‘Begging your pardon, Majesties,’ the soldier spoke up. ‘I believe there be an even greater threat to Briton than my master’s plans.’

  ‘Go on.’ Maelgwn gave him leave to voice his concern.

  ‘Craig-y-Ddinas be a well known haunt of the Tylwyth Teg. Ever since construction started on the fortress, an unearthly mist hast descended on the site … tools, materials and men have gone missing. Aurelius Conan hast punished all those who speak about the strange occurrences at Craig-y-Ddinas, accusing them of trying to undermine his plans with superstitious nonsense.’ A look of utter bewilderment swept the soldier’s face. ‘My fellow kinsmen art trapped between the master’s wrath and that of the Tylwyth Teg, and quite frankly, I think I should
rather face the might of Rome than the power of the dominion of nature.’

  This was grave news. Maelgwn released a heavy sigh. The Tylwyth Teg had put him on the throne of Gwynedd, and could just as easily withdraw from his lands, whereby the prosperity of his kingdom would vanish along with them. ‘I wonder if Taliesin knows about this?’

  ‘I think he knew about it at Beltaine,’ commented Tory.

  ‘Damn it!’ Maelgwn cursed the High Merlin. ‘Why does he never say something before these disasters art upon us?’

  ‘Pardon me, Majesty.’ Selwyn cleared his throat before pointing out: ‘If Taliesin foresees a disaster, to forewarn of it be to feed the manifestation of it. Like everyone else he must wait for sure signs that the ill-event will come to pass before trying to avert it. For to try and avert a disaster that dost not exist would also be to acknowledge and permit the existence of it.’

  The King could hardly believe that his one-time page was now tutoring him in the secret doctrine of the greater mysteries. ‘A fair point,’ Maelgwn conceded. ‘Still, whether or not Taliesin considers this situation volatile enough to take action, I do.’

  ‘I second thy view.’ Tory lent her support to any plan her husband might be hatching.

  ‘Alright.’ Maelgwn motioned them all in close. ‘Now, the way I see it, there art four courses of action that we must pursue at once …’

  Selwyn, knowing more about the etheric world and its inhabitants than any in the room, was to go to Craig-y-Ddinas and try to seek an audience with the Tylwyth Teg.

  The soldier would ride to Powys to inform King Brockwell of the recent developments in Gwent. Brockwell would then take word to Vortipor in Dyfed, along with additional forces to reinforce the eastern border of Vortipor’s kingdom.

  Tory would attempt to seek Taliesin out, whilst Maelgwn went to Aurelius Caninus in Gwent to see what he could do about getting the construction on the fort halted.

  ‘I believe I can speed up the proceedings, Majesties.’ Selwyn bowed before gripping the hand of the soldier and assuring him, ‘I shall see thee swiftly to Powys.’ Looking back to Tory and Maelgwn, Selwyn grinned and vanished, the soldier with him.