The Du Lac Chronicles: Book 1
Page 31
“I hate boats,” Annis mumbled as Merton left the room.
“You survived the journey here; you will survive the journey back.”
“I wasn’t pregnant then,” Annis protested.
“I think you’ll find you were,” Alden said. He looked at her tenderly. “I’ll look after you.” He smiled at her and tugged her gently into his arms. “Say it again.”
She knew what he wanted her to say. “My a’th kar. I love you.”
“Not as much as I love you.” He kissed her and then stepped away. “You know, I think it is way past time I introduce my people to their Queen.
EPILOGUE
Wessex, Briton.
Cerdic of Wessex had not said one word since he had arrived home from Brittany. He sat by the fire with a letter clasped tightly in his hand, even though he had long since read it. He was staring vacantly in front of him and his skin had turned an alarming grey. For the first time ever, he looked overwhelmed, bested almost.
Lady Wessex was shocked by her husband’s appearance and she wondered what had happened in Brittany and what the letter said. She dared not ask, for she feared the answer.
Cynric entered the room. He had not died as Merton had stated and planned. He had never been in any real danger. Seeing his father’s rigid countenance and his mother’s questioning glance, he quickly walked out again. He would leave it to his father to explain things, because he did not think he could find the words.
“I have to go,” Cerdic said suddenly, rising to his feet. He crumpled the letter and threw it in the direction of the fire. He then fled the room as if the great god Thunor were at his heels, intending to strike him dead with his hammer.
Lady Wessex jumped as he slammed the door shut behind him, before letting out a relieved breath. She had been scared of saying the wrong thing, or doing the wrong thing. Cerdic was not the easiest man to live with.
Her gaze was drawn to the fire and the letter that had not yet caught. A great curiosity over came her. She knew Cerdic would be furious if he came back in and saw her with the letter in her hand, but she had to know what was going on. Rising quickly she rescued the letter from the flames and read it. It was short and to the point.
“Alden du Lac has an army and he is coming to reclaim his lands. You will let him. You will fall back and you will leave him and Cerniw alone. There are to be no reprisals. Think of it as a punishment for your failures. Remember, I am watching you. Do not fail me again, or it will be your head on the block and your kingdom on fire.”
Lady Wessex sank back down on to her chair, the letter falling on to her lap. There had been no signature, no seal on the letter, nothing to say where it had come from, and she had not recognised the messenger who had delivered it.
She had never seen her husband fearful before, but he was fearful now. By the gods, what evil had her husband brought on to his kingdom?
AUTHOR’S NOTE
The Du Lac Chronicles is the first in a trilogy of novels, and although it is a work of fiction, it includes some ‘historical’ characters.
By AD 400, the Roman era had come to an end and the Britain’s were left to rule themselves. The kingdom divided and for the next 500 years, the natives fought each other, as well as foreign invaders, in a bid for superiority. It is no surprise that from this, legends were born.
The fifth and sixth centuries, it is said, were the time of King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table. Arthur may have fought Cerdic, the Saxon invader, at Mount Badon and won. But Cerdic had seen the rich soils of Britain and wanted a piece of it for himself. He returned. According to the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, Cerdic landed in Hampshire at the end of the fifth century. Cerdic and his son Cynric launched a campaign that led them across the south-east of Britain and as far as the Isle of Wight.
It was during one of these campaigns that Cerdic “killed a certain British king named Natanleod, and five thousand men with him.” There is some debate as to who King Natanleod was. Some claim he was, in fact, King Arthur, while others doubt his existence at all. There is no mention of Cerdic ever fighting a war in Cerniw; in fact, Cerniw, or Cornwall, as it is now known, was one of the last kingdoms in the south to hold out against the Saxons. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicles do tell us that Cerdic became the first West-Saxon King of Britain in AD 519.
The King of Kent, King Oeric, ruled somewhere between AD 488 and 516. Although not much is known about his reign, more is known about his father or possible grandfather, Hengest. Hengest and his brother Horsa were mercenaries that were invited to Britain by Vortigern, a fifth century warlord. Vortigern hired their help to aid in his fight against the troublesome Picts and Scots. But one should never trust a mercenary! The brothers revolted against Vortigern and eventually took control of Vortigern’s kingdom. There is some debate as to who actually succeeded Hengest to the throne of Kent. Some say Oeric and others say Oeric’s son Octa.
This era continued to see the trade links that the Romans had initiated and Little Britain, or Brittany, seemed to be integrated into the mainland of Britain. Brittany, like Britain, was made up of various regions that were ruled by different powerful families. The Breton language has striking similarities with the Celtic and Gaelic language of the mainland; so it seems that not only did the British tribes trade with Brittany, but they also moved there and in some instances took control of parts of the country.
King Budic of Brittany is another colourful character of the fifth century. Although his name is surrounded by myth, deciphering what is real and what is fictitious is a challenge. He is often associated with the legendary King Ban of Benwick. I named Budic’s castle Benwick out of respect for the legend. Budic, if he existed, controlled an area called Cornouaille, and it is very likely that he had direct trading routes with Britain and probably had family relations there as well, most likely in Cornwall.
A pestilence hit Cornwall, possibly a plague, in the early sixth century and the reigning royal family fled. Cornwall may have then fallen under the control of the King of Dumnonia.
Cameliard was the legendary home of King Leodegrance. Cameliard, if it was an actual place, has been linked with Cornwall as well as an area of Britain that was rapidly becoming known as The Foreigners Lands, or Walha. When the different kingdoms of Walha finally became united, many years later, the kingdom’s name was changed from Walha to Wales.
The era between the Roman period and the Norman Conquest is, I think, one of the most fascinating periods in British history. I hope I have inspired you to learn more about the Dark Ages in Britain. A complete bibliography of the books I have used to research this mystical time would be too long to list, but if you are interested in some light reading, then I thoroughly recommend Michael Woods’, In Search of the Dark Ages and In Search of England. For further reading, I would recommend, Nennius, The History of the Britons, Bede’s Ecclesiastical History of the English People and Geoffrey of Monmouth The History of the Kings of Britain.
If you would like to read more about the times of King Arthur please take a look at my blog. http://maryanneyarde.blogspot.co.uk. I would like to take this opportunity to thank you for reading The Du Lac Chronicles. Please would you consider writing a short review on the site from where you purchased my novel. It would mean a great deal to me.
Read on for an exclusive extract from the second book in The Du Lac Chronicles trilogy.
THE DU LAC CHRONICLES
Book 2
Summer AD500 On the border of Burgundar.
“Clovis is a clever bastard,” Yrre said softly as he watched the army of the Franks assemble themselves. He moved forward a little, using the shelter of the trees and the ferns to stay hidden. It would not do for them to be seen. Not yet, anyway.
Merton du Lac wiped the rain from his face with his hand. It had rained nonstop for three very long days. And Wihtgar had said that it was always sunny in Burgundar…he was a lying son of a bitch.
>
Yrre crawled back to where Merton waited. Like Yrre, Merton was lying on his stomach. It was an uncomfortable position to be in, for a gnarled tree root was digging into him and the ground was wet. The air smelt of trees and wet foliage, but that made a welcome change to the usual smell of blood and carnage.
Merton rubbed his sore, chapped red hands together, trying to encourage the feeling back into them. He glanced up at the sky through the tree flora, at the menacing black clouds, and he fleetingly wondered if he would ever feel the warmth of the sun on his skin again.
They had been watching Clovis’s camp since daybreak, looking for something, anything, to exploit to their advantage. But there was nothing.
“Any bright ideas?” Yrre asked, although there was little hope in his voice. Only the gods could save them now.
For once, Merton had nothing to say. He couldn’t see a way out of this one. Their situation was precarious to say the least. They were surrounded and the chance of survival was slim to non-existent. Damn. Why did everything always have to go wrong at the same time? And why the hell had he not listened to his intuition in the first place?
“An easy win,” Wihtgar had said. “Easy money. Nothing to it.” But Wihtgar had never said anything about Clovis. He had never said that that was whom they would be fighting. For the love of….they were mercenaries. They didn’t fight when there was no chance of winning and worse still, no chance of being paid.
Thunder rumbled overhead and the sky flashed brightly for a moment. This day couldn’t get any worse.
But then it did.
Merton bit back a groan of anguish as he watched Clovis’s cavalry ride into the camp. Beside him, Yrre cursed profusely, unable to keep the words in.
“It was nice knowing you,” Yrre said, when he had run out of obscenities.
Merton didn’t reply. The cavalry was certainly impressive in number. Whether they had any skill, well, that remained to be seen. But still, it wasn’t what he had wanted or expected to see. Clovis kept on surprising him.
Yrre touched his shoulder briefly. “Let’s get out of here. Maybe the others have had better luck.” His voice, however, lacked conviction.
Merton stayed a moment longer, watching the army. He had no choice; he had to cross the enemy lines, somehow. He had to get his men and his son to safety. He owed them that much.
Why on earth had he got involved in this messy family feud in the first place? He should have known better. No amount of money was worth all of this. He watched as Clovis came into view. He was easy to pick out against the rest of his men, for no one else wore clothes as fine as he had on, and he held himself like the commander he was. This wasn’t the first time the two of them had run into each other, but Merton suspected it would be the last. This time one of them would die. Merton had a strong suspicion that it wouldn’t be Clovis.
Clovis must have sensed someone watching him because he turned his head to where Merton lay, not that he could see him, for Merton was well hidden. Still, it would not pay to linger. Slowly, Merton began to make his way over to Yrre. He would never live it down if he were caught. Not that he would be kept alive for long if he were. There was no forgiveness for a man like him, and many would rejoice at his death. And who could blame them?
In the last few years his world had been turned upside down. He had seen things he had never even imagined, and he had done things that he never thought he would have done. He had traded his soul for a steady supply of gold. Some now called him the son of the devil, because you could tell where he had been, for he left fire and destruction in his wake. He was feared. Which was a good thing. It was what he wanted.
His late father, the once-great Lancelot du Lac, had been an honourable man. Merton had been told countless times that his father would be rolling in his grave if he could see what his youngest son had become. Merton had shrugged off such comments, because in the grand scheme of things, it hardly mattered. His father was dead and he wasn’t coming back anytime soon. Why should he lose sleep over a dead man’s opinion?
Contrary to popular belief, however, he had not been born a monster. Sometimes, in the still of the night, he would imagine an alternative life to the one he now lived. He would have a home. A wife who loved him and whom he loved in return. Children. Peace.
Peace was a foreign word to a man like him, and no woman would want him now. His late wife certainly had not. She hadn’t wanted their son either. She had called their baby the devil’s spawn and flatly refused to nurse him. He closed his grey eyes briefly, refusing to think about her. The bitch had put him off women for life.
Only a handful of people knew why he had become what he had, and why he did what he did, and even they did not necessarily understand. He owed his brother a debt, and this was the only way he could see to pay it off.
What happens when Alden and Merton finally reach Cerniw? Read the interim Novella of The Du Lac Chronicles to explore more today.
THE DU LAC CHRONICLES
The Pitchfork Rebellion
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