The Du Lac Chronicles: Book 1

by Mary Yarde

  Cerniw was the most beautiful kingdom in Briton — well, he thought so anyway. Who wouldn’t want it? Who would not be tempted to seize it? He hadn’t, not at first. The kingdom was too far away from his beloved Brittany. It was too far away from his memories. Slowly, over a period of time, Cerniw had found a place for itself in his heart and he had grown to love the kingdom and its people. Many a man envied him his kingdom just as they envied him his name. The du Lac’s had it all, or so it seemed. Money, position, power. His father had been a powerful man. Everyone knew his name. Lancelot du Lac, first knight of Camelot, King of Brittany. He could never live up to his father; some mountains were too high to climb.

  Maybe he should just find a little house, far away from everyone. The world could rule the world, while he and Annis raised a family. The idea had merit. Forget all about Cerniw and blank it from the memory. Let Budic think him dead. Budic would be pleased; the thorn in his side would be gone, but if Merton was dead, then the du Lac line at Benwick would be at an end. There was no one else, for Budic’s wife was barren. Everything his father had fought so hard to achieve would be gone, wiped away in one generation.

  His thoughts drifted back to Annis. What kind of punishment would her father bestow on her if they were captured? Cerdic wasn’t a forgiving man. The punishment would be brutal.

  He felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck and he held his breath, listening. The faint echo of a dog could just be made out over the howling of the wind.

  “Annis, wake up,” he whispered urgently, gently shaking her awake.

  She opened her eyes. “What is it?” she whispered sleepily.

  “Sshh. Listen.”

  For a long moment all they could hear was the wind and then there it was again.

  “A dog?” Annis asked. “Out here on its own?” She sat up, her eyes wide with fear. “We are being followed, aren’t we?”

  “I think we have spent too long here.” Alden said, sidestepping the question. He quickly shoved his feet back into his shoes and reached for his sword.

  The pace he set was fast, faster than what it had been before, and Annis had trouble keeping up. Twice she had fallen, the first time on a snow-buried tree root that had sent her flying into a huge snow drift and the second when she slipped on some ice and her feet had come out from under her. Alden had stopped to help her, cursing softly under his breath. After the second fall, he had not let go of her hand and she had to run to keep up with him. Her dress was soaked almost up to her thighs from the drifts, and the cruel wind made everything harder than it already was, for it whipped around them, chilling them to the bone and shaking the branches of the trees, which made it more difficult to hear the enemy’s dogs.

  Annis gripped Alden’s hand tighter. He glanced at her, but there was no reassuring smile and she knew the reason for it. The odds were stacked against them, more so than they had ever been. If they miraculously managed to outrun her father’s soldiers, they would die of exposure. Annis wondered which one would be worse.

  The mid-afternoon sun shone weakly down on them when Alden stopped. He let go of Annis’s hand and walked to the edge of a steep embankment. Annis followed him.

  “Stay back,” he warned.

  Unsurprisingly, she didn’t. She gasped, astounded by the exquisiteness below, for there was a large, deep river whose overhanging tree branches bowed over it, from the weight of the snow, like a court bowing down to a king. The current ran fast, swirling around submerged rocks and crashing against the ones that were not.

  The wind had lessened at last, thank goodness. And everything seemed so peaceful, so tranquil.

  They were going to have to cross the river, Alden thought, seeing none of its beauty. He did his best not to sigh in frustration. There was no way they were going to be able to cross here, for the water was too wild.

  “Come on. Perhaps the water becomes shallower a little farther down.” He tried to make his voice sound encouraging, but he was not talking to a child; she could see for herself the predicament they were in. “We will keep going until dusk.”

  “Then what?” Annis asked.

  Alden gave her the only answer he could. “I don’t know.” It was the best he could come up with. There were no promises he could make. They would be lucky to see another dawn. The cold was killing them; he knew it and he knew she knew it, too. At least they had tried; at least no one could accuse them of giving up.

  A dog bayed excitedly.

  “No, no, no, no,” Alden sighed, his shoulders slumped. “Do they ever give up?” He turned to look at Annis as he asked the question.

  A tear fell from Annis’s eye and travelled slowly down her cheek. He reached out and dabbed it gently with his thumb.

  “Never. My father would never give up. We have come to the end, haven’t we? We have done all we could…” She stopped to sniff back the tears. “I am not sorry,” she said, looking him full in the face.

  “I will never be a prisoner of Cerdic of Wessex again,” Alden stated.

  Annis raised her chin with determination. “Neither will I.”

  Alden almost smiled. “Come on then.” He held out his hand and Annis took it. “Listen to me carefully. We have to cross this river, one way or another. I just hope the water will hide our scent from the dogs.”

  Annis looked to where the water ran freely. Man tried to bend nature to his will, dam a river here, divert it there, but it could never truly be conquered. It was a free spirit. It was free.

  “We have nothing to lose,” Annis stated, still staring at the water.

  “Only each other,” Alden answered and she turned to look at him, but he was looking at the river.

  Behind them they could now hear not only dogs but also the voices of the soldiers.

  “It’s now or never,” Alden said.

  “Alden, if we don’t make —”

  “Sshh.” Alden gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “They have not caught us yet,” he said, as a brief smile flickered on his lips.

  The embankment down to the river was steep and both of them slipped over in the snow. Alden had fallen at an angle, trying to protect the woman by his side, trying to stop her from injuring herself, and had twisted his own ankle in the process. He limped heavily as they splashed into the river.

  The water was so cold that Annis momentarily lost the ability to speak. She held tightly to Alden’s hand as he led her deeper into the river.

  “We are going to have to swim from here.” Alden raised his voice over the sound of the strong current.

  “Swim?” Annis shook her head, biting her lip to stop herself from screaming from the freezing water. It felt like someone was pricking her skin with the tip of a thousand knives. The current was dragging at her legs as if it were trying to pull her into its depths. “No. I can’t swim…I…”

  “Dear Lord, why did you not tell me?”

  “You did not ask me,” Annis gasped. She stopped, her face screwed up in cold as the water lapped around her waist. “You go on. Leave me here. We will both be captured if I stay with you. On your own you have a chance.”

  Alden pulled her closer to him. “On my own, without you, I am nothing. We have come this far; are you really going to let a bit of cold water stop you now?”

  “I can’t swim.” She said, fighting the tears.

  “And I am not going anywhere without you. Where has your courage gone, Annis of Wessex?”

  “Courage?” Annis asked, shaking her head, not understanding.

  “Courage,” he repeated. “Don’t you trust me with your life?”

  “Alden.”

  He looked deep into her eyes. “I trusted you with mine, remember.”

  He was right, he had. “Don’t you dare let go of me,” Annis begged, clutching his arm and following him deeper still into the icy water.

  “I won’t,” Alden promised.
He hissed through his teeth and closed his eyes briefly against the cold.

  The water was up to Annis’s neck. “You have to trust me, Annis. This is where it gets a little tricky. Do you see that bush over there?” He pointed to the other side of the river.

  “Yes,” Annis stammered.

  “We are aiming for there, but to get there we are going to have to swim.”

  “I can’t,” Annis squeaked.

  “I know you can’t. I am going to help you.”

  “There they are,” a soldier yelled in Saxon, and the sounds of the forest were silenced by the baying of excited hounds.

  Alden looked to the shoreline where Cerdic’s soldiers were trying to bully their steeds into the river. One horse reared his refusal. Another refused to go forward.

  “Trust me,” Alden stated.

  It was harder than she thought to trust someone with her life. She tried not to fight, tried not to scream when the water splashed her face and went into her eyes. She tried to lie still, tried not to panic or struggle. Alden’s breath was warm against her cheek and she kept telling herself that soon she would be able to touch the bottom of the river with her feet. Soon she would be back safely on dry land. But soon wasn’t coming soon enough.

  The current was strong, and trying to swim against it one-handed was near-impossible. The shoreline became a blur of colours. The bush he was aiming for had disappeared and the soldiers could no longer be seen. All he could hear was the sound of the current and his own racing heart. He twisted so he could see ahead. “Oh God,” he stated, for up ahead the river was littered with rocks and the current went from strong to violent. He looked around, hoping for an overhanging branch, anything to grab hold of. But there was nothing.

  “Alden?” Annis twisted, trying to see what he saw. “Alden, do something.” Annis screamed, grabbing hold of him with both hands. The strength of the water took them both under and Annis came up coughing.

  “Annis, listen.” Alden tried to remove her hands from around his neck and he went under again, and she with him. Under the water, he pushed himself free; he had to, for she was drowning them both. He surfaced briefly to take in a mouthful of air before he went under again to find her. He did so almost instantly, grabbing hold of her dress and tugging her back to the surface.

  “Annis.” He yelled her name as the water slammed him backwards into a large boulder. The pain radiated down his arms and his legs and he lost his grip on her. Battling the pain, he raced the current, caught hold of her ankle and pulled her back towards him. He did so not knowing if she was alive or dead. She did not stir as he twisted her body around, and her eyes were closed. She wasn’t dead. He wouldn’t allow that. Alden put his arm around Annis’s neck, trying his best to keep her body above the water. It was not easy, for the current seemed determined to take them both to a watery grave.

  His second brush with death was as unpleasant as the first. He caught a glimpse of the grey sky and wondered briefly if someone up there had it in for him. He envied those who died in a soft warm bed, in their sleep. What blissful ignorance it was to never realise that death had come. Perhaps it was the du Lacs fate not to die well. His father had not. Lancelot had known that he was dying and had faced it straight on. He said at the end one begins to think about the beginning, and he had spent a great deal of time staring at nothing but seeing everything, living it again. Just before he died, Alden had crept into his father’s room. He had been told not to disturb him by his mother, but when did a ten-year-old boy ever listen to his mother?

  “Alden?” His father said his name, his voice so weak it came out little better than a whisper.

  “Father.”

  “What are you doing here? You should be in bed.”

  “I wanted to ask you something. And I was worried you wouldn’t be…” His voice trailed off. His father was dying. His mother had sat them down in her chamber, Merton on her lap, and told her children that their father’s life would soon be over, and they would have to learn to live without him. She had tears in her eyes as she spoke. Alden didn’t understand; he couldn’t. His father wasn’t the type of person who died.

  “How long?” Garren had asked, always wanting a definite answer to his questions.

  “Days,” his mother had answered.

  “What did you want to ask me?” his father said.

  “I wanted to know if you are scared of death. Are you?”

  “Of all the questions you could have asked, you chose that one? No, son,” his father replied. “I don’t fear death. There is nothing to fear in death.”

  “You don’t fear anything. It is easy for you. I wish I were as brave as you. I do not like fighting, Father. Bastian says I have skill with a sword, but I do not think I could ever take a life.”

  “I hate fighting too. Before every battle I felt sick. I took no pleasure in killing. But sometimes these things are forced upon you and there is nothing you can do about it. There is no glory in war and I hope I never made out that there was. If you survive a battle, you then get to relive it every night of your life. I would not wish that upon you; I would not wish it upon anyone. I have my ghosts, son. We all do. My biggest ghost is my name, for it haunts me.”

  “Why does your name haunt you?” Alden had asked, confused.

  “Because,” he paused. “Because I was once a fool. I bought into a dream. I united myself with an old enemy. And when the walls of Jericho came tumbling down around me, it broke my heart; and every time I hear my name, it hurts a little more.”

  “Was Arthur an evil man?”

  “There are no evil men, just men. He was my friend before he was my enemy, and I loved him like a brother and I miss him. I will always miss what he was at the beginning. But you did not come here to speak of him and days long gone. You said that I am fearless. Nobody is fearless. Everyone is scared of something and I am no exception. I do not fear death for that comes to us all, and there is nothing any of us can do about it. I am just following in the footsteps of our ancestors. Another journey that I have to take, that is all death is. But believe me when I tell you that I am a reluctant traveller. I don’t want to go. I don’t want to be where you are not. I will miss you all as much as you will miss me, but you will have each other for comfort. You must promise me you will look after your mother and little Merton.”

  “Why can’t you stay and look after them yourself?”

  For the first time in his life he saw his father’s eyes fill with tears and a lump appeared in his own throat, making swallowing difficult.

  “Because my time has come and I must go. Do not cry. I had a good life. I had you, didn’t I? You are such a good boy. I am so proud of you.”

  Would he be proud now? Damn it all, he was eighteen years old and he was going to drown in a river.

  He adjusted his grip on Annis. She had been terrified that he was going to leave her, and all he had given her were words. What were words when she had seen them broken so many times? He should have wed her. He should have pledged himself to her, bound their hands in the sacred act of handfasting. He should have done something. The water smashed him against the rocks again and he banged his head. He saw his own blood mix with the water. Damn this world, damn this life. He was not going to die in a river; he deserved better than that. He was a du Lac. With a newfound will he began to swim. He had to get them out of here. He gave it everything he had left, fighting the tide as if it were Cerdic himself. The current was strong and Alden was weak, but he never gave up. He never once lost hope; he just battled on, like his father had, right until the end.

  The water became shallower, but he did not have the strength to stand; instead, he crawled up on to the cold embankment, dragging Annis along with him. He scrambled over her, laying his head on her chest, listening for a heartbeat.

  “Thank God,” he mumbled to himself, then pushed her over on to her side and began to hit her back hard
with the palm of his hand.

  She immediately began to cough and choke. He hit her again and she was sick.

  “Alden,” she coughed his name and was sick again.

  “Good girl.” He pulled her into his arms and stroked her wet hair, with shaking red hands. “God, I thought I’d lost you.”

  Annis closed her eyes; she did not have the energy to speak. Instead, she burrowed into his chest and listened to the reassuring beat of his frantic heart.

  Relief washed over Alden and he took a moment to savour the fact that they had both survived. He held Annis a little bit tighter, for they were both shivering. He scanned their immediate surroundings, listening for soldiers, but the forest was peaceful. They had travelled a long way. He pulled himself up into a sitting position. His whole body hurt, from his head down to his toes. They needed a miracle. Unfortunately, the world seemed short on miracles, so he did not hold his breath for one.

  He slowly stood, gingerly taking his weight on his injured foot. The pain made him gasp, although he managed to stay upright. Slowly, like an old man, he bent and helped Annis to her feet.

  “The air smells of salt,” Annis said, as she swayed alarmingly on her feet.

  “It does.” Although he had not smelt the air until Annis had pointed it out. “Careful sweetheart, don’t faint on me.” He caught her in his arms as she did, bracing himself for the pain as she fell against him like a dead weight.