The Shadow of a King (Shadowland Book 2)

by C. M. Gray

  'They are,' muttered the Duc, 'but I seem to have misplaced them in all the excitement of being here. I shall be sure to present them just as soon as I can find them.' With a last smile, Gerlois tossed his stone to the side and allowed himself to be drawn down the beach by Morgana, who appeared more eager to take a closer look at the skiffs bouncing about in the waves close to the shore.

  Uther opened his eyes. 'You gave me back the stone, our stone, didn't you… the last time I was here before they took me away to battle? I remember holding it; you pressed it into my hand as I was taken away. I didn't know what it was at the time, but now I do, it was the stone taken from the beach as we left for the Isle of Erin. So the stone has been passed once more, and I suppose it did its job, as it always seems to do. I still live after all.' He coughed and closed his eyes as pain ripped his chest, and then weariness flowed over him trying to draw him down into sleep. After a moment, he smelt the warm flowery steam of the hot brew and then Morgana was holding his head as he sipped her special infusion… and then he slept.

  Chapter 9

  The Curse of the Sea

  The twenty-two boats were readied, loaded with warriors and supplies and then they took to sea. The majority of those aboard were making their first ever voyage in such a vessel and for many, it was the first time they had seen the sea, which was evident from the many warriors sitting on the beach staring in awe.

  Each boat was made from oak and carried a single sail. For the most part, they had both high prows and sterns and were crafted for coastal waters, not to survive heavy seas. A middle section was lower to accommodate rows of oarsmen, which was necessary to give the boats more power at sea and allowed them to be more manoeuvrable within strong tides and river systems. The sails were heavy, made of flax and hemp fibre and it was necessary to keep them as dry as possible lest they lose shape and become saturated and unmanageable.

  As soon as the signal had been given that all boats were loaded and ready to leave, the sails were heaved aloft by thick ropes, the wind snatched at them and they were suddenly moving. To those first time seafarers on board, it appeared as if the wind was eager to catch at the cloth, impatient to drag them out into the fury of the sea. It was a time of excitement and also no small amount of fear with many a curse and appeal to the Gods made. As the wind took hold and turned them towards open water, frantic activity ensued aboard each boat. The short anchor ropes were hauled in and the anchor stones stowed safely away below the plank deck. There was then much manoeuvring, confusion and shouting as every boat tried to find its own patch of sea to head into whilst trying not to collide with any of the others.

  Eventually, they were clear, and with enough distance between the boats to sail and be comfortable. The oars were lowered and the first shift of warriors began to heave upon the huge, solid rowing oars, twelve oars to a side and two rowers to each oar. There were between sixty and eighty warriors aboard each boat and when not rowing, there was enough deck space between the rowers to allow those not rowing to rest. There was also space in the dark, damp confines of the hold below the plank decking, but while the weather was fair, below the deck was not going to be a popular choice, the cramped confines stank to begin with, and once underway it would quickly worsen.

  As his boat took to the sea, Uther was enjoying the feeling of freedom of setting out on a new adventure. He was smiling as he stood by the two steersmen and even helped as they leant hard on the long steering oar that trailed down to the waves behind them. They strained against the might of the sea attempting to turn the vessel onto a new course while the steering oar struggled mightily to evade their grasp. He enjoyed the battle between man and ship, fascinated as the great wooden beast was slowly tamed and responded, the boat's prow coming around as if it were some great beast sniffing for its path amongst the waves. Finally, when the steersmen judged it was heading in the right direction and the sail set to catch the best of the wind, they were able to lash the great steering oar in place. They were now hitting the waves almost head on, meeting each with a heavy slap against the hull that blew a fine spray of salt water back over the craft, covering the tribesmen who sat, rowed or lay upon the open deck. Uther knew that with good weather it would take the flotilla of boats little more than a day to make the crossing, but then of course once there, it would take some time for Merlyn to locate the right piece of coastline they were looking for. It meant that at least one or possibly two nights would have to be spent at sea, which when planning the quest hadn't seemed too much of a hardship, however, now as they approached the main channel, with the open sea laid out vast and empty before him, he was beginning to appreciate what two days aboard a ship might really mean.

  The deck rose abruptly and beneath him as they met a particularly big wave, and a little alarmed, he staggered to the side of the boat to hold on. There were worried cries and exclamations from the tribesmen when it then dropped away and slammed down into the trough of the next wave sending up an even bigger wash of water back over the boat.

  'It will calm a little once we get out into deeper water. We are feeling the effects of two great seas coming together at the moment as we round the cliffs.' Merlyn came up beside Uther and gestured towards the headland. He looked to be thoroughly enjoying himself, moving easily with the movements of the deck beneath his feet, seemingly without need to hold onto the side. Uther noticed the old Druid was eating something. Pulling meat off a bone with his teeth with little concern for the amount of his hair and beard that he was also chewing on. Uther watched in fascination as the wind sent both hair and beard floating about the old Druid's head in a swirling cloud.

  'This is wonderful, I love to be at sea like this,' shouted Merlyn as he waved the bone about, pointing at the waves, the land and then the milling ranks of warriors before them. 'I feel much closer to the spirits when the wind is gusting and the water, so deep, is sliding past beneath us.'

  'What are you eating?' Uther touched his hand to his lips as a sudden wave of nausea threatened to overwhelm him. He tried to swallow, but his mouth was suddenly dry. After just a short time under sail, he was already feeling quite ill, he burped and put his hand to his mouth. 'And how can you possibly want to eat anything?' Studying the Druid, Uther shook his head and dragged his eyes back to the rolling waves. He tried to ignore Merlyn, and not think of the meat grease he had noticed caught in the Druid's beard. Truth be told, watching Merlyn eat, coupled with the motion of the boat, was beginning to make him feel more than a little sick, his stomach gurgled, and he felt an urgent need to hang over the side of the boat and empty it.

  Walking two steps to the side, he stared out at the other ships around them. He tried to choke down the nausea, drew a deep breath and watched as the oars dipped into the water before lifting clear with a rush of spray. The tribesmen in the closest boat were laughing and shouting as they heaved on the oars to send the vessel surging forward. His own boat lurched beneath him and he felt the timbers tremble, flex and shudder as if the craft were alive. Holding out a hand, Uther steadied himself and decided he needed to move about, maybe that would help. He staggered past a grinning Merlyn and jumped down to the central walkway between the rowers, trying his best on the moving surface to step between the warriors who were covering the deck without stepping on them. Several attempted to rise, either to let him pass or in deference to him being their King and leader, but he motioned for them to remain where they were as he picked his way through.

  'Please, I can get past, stay there.' He took several steps making his way around the closest, but then a few strides in front of him a warrior rolled onto his side and puked noisily down onto the feet of one of the rowers.

  'Ahhhh!' The oarsmen screamed his disgust and punched out at the vomiting man hitting him heavily on the shoulder, but it had little effect, the one being sick ignored the blow and just kept retching, trying to throw up more.

  'You dirty, disgusting pig… go away, get away with you.' The oarsman kicked out but then leant back quickly as a bo
y darted in with a leather bucket of sea water and emptied it down over both the sick man and the mess he had made. Uther watched as the puke washed away to disappear between the floorboards, unfortunately, the awful smell remained. Uther clamped a hand over his nose and mouth.

  'E's all right, e'll live. I was sick lots when I first got on the boats. E's just the first; there'll be plenty more of them sick afor long.' The boy shook the last few drops of water from the bucket and then skipped back across the crowded deck easily navigating his way amongst the sprawling warriors and then, holding tight to the hemp rope, he launched the bucket from the back of the boat to fill it again.

  Uther watched, glanced back at the groaning man then spun around, back towards Merlyn, and for a moment was at a loss as his own stomach threatened to make itself known. The smell of vomit was being blown away by the wind, but it was too late for Uther, he managed to make it up to the side, just past Merlyn, and then the contents of his stomach erupted over the side of the boat. The last thing he heard before losing all interest in anything but his own suffering, was the cackling cry of the gulls as they swooped and Merlyn laughing and commenting on how the Gods of the sea could so easily bring a King to his knees.

  During the hours of darkness the rowers took their rest, and the boats continued on under sail. Uther awoke to the strange sounds of the boat around him as it moved steadily on towards Erin. He could feel it rising and falling beneath his prostrate form, pushing the rough, wet wood of the deck against his cheek as it rose and then he could feel it dropping away beneath him, the slap of it meeting the water, juddering back up in a most alarming way that made his head spin and stomach gurgle. He groaned and made a half-hearted attempt to rise, but found even that simple act impossible. He gave up and tried to ignore the movement and pungent smells that assaulted him, and just listened, allowing his mind to calm and explore his surroundings. Ropes were creaking, the low murmur of people talking came from somewhere close, and there was a flapping sound that, after a few puzzled moments, he reasoned to be the pennon that flew at the top of the mast. Oh spirits, he felt awful. It was cold, yet there was a sheen of sweat and spray upon his face, his head was pounding with a rhythm all of its own and his throat was sore. He swallowed and groaned again.

  'Uther…? Uther are you back from the edge of the Shadowland?'

  Uther ignored the voice. He knew it was Merlyn, and right now wanted nothing to do with the Druid or his stupid quest. Truth be told he would be happy just to die right now and be done with it all.

  'Uther, suck on this.'

  A bit of wet wood… or something foul was pushed past his lips and he tried to push it out with his tongue. 'Ahhh, nnooo…' But it was pushed back in and he felt his arm lifted. Something was being pressed painfully into his inner arm and Uther tried to struggle, confused by what was happening.

  'Be still Uther. The root is called gingiber. It is from a little plant that the Romans brought with them, and one for which the Druids upon Ynys Mon have found many uses. I was told it might be a great relief should we encounter sickness from the rolling of the boat, but I hadn't realised the afflicted would be you.'

  Uther sucked on the slice of root and although it had a most alarming taste, he did actually feel his stomach began to calm. 'And why are you hurting my arm?' He managed to sit upright against the side of the boat, which at first was a mistake as his stomach began to gurgle once more, but then he sucked down the strange tasting juices from the root and after a moment his stomach settled again.

  'Oh, this? You have a point on your arm right here,' - Merlyn pushed even harder - 'that also drains the sickness from you. It's quite clever really isn't it… feeling any better?'

  'But you let me suffer all this time…I feel awful. Why now? Why did you just leave me to…?'

  'It would not have been wise to give you something untried, would it, Uther? When I was sure of the calming effects of the root upon myself, I merely waited for you to awaken so that I could give it to you.'

  Uther pulled himself to his feet, stared out over the rolling waves and took a deep breath. He could see the dark outlines of several other boats that weren't too distant, and a half-moon was casting its light between scudding clouds. In the far distance, lightning flashed.

  'Are we in for a storm?' The idea of being at sea in this boat with a storm tossing them about conjured the most alarming images.

  'I think not. By daybreak, we should have sight of Erin and if the storm has reached us by then, well, we can shelter in one of its many bays or rivers. Enjoy this journey, Uther, and chew your gingiber, for tomorrow you must lead us as we seek to land and you may find that hard if you are still weak at the knees and taken with the sickness.'

  Although he couldn't really see Merlyn's face other than the white of his teeth and his luminescent cloud of hair, Uther knew that the old Druid was grinning at him, once again mocking the King of the Britons.

  The first watery light of dawn found that the boats were indeed in sight of land. A dark and choppy sea surrounded them and a stiff breeze was pushing the boats along the coast at a fine pace. Nobody spoke as the distant land slipped past, gradually revealing itself as it shed its cover of darkness. The coastline appeared bare of trees with rocky cliffs and high barren hills that rolled off into the distance. Seabirds were spiralling and calling from cliffs stained white by countless generations of their kind that had painted the rock face with their faeces. Waves were breaking with pounding savagery that echoed back to those on the boats. There seemed to be numerous bays and inlets where they might have found shelter, yet Merlyn guided them on, keeping them a good distance from the coast. After some time, it began to rain. Not a great, torrential downpour, but more a drizzling sky that brought with it a feeling of misery and painted everything and everyone in different shades of grey.

  'Where is it, Merlyn?' mumbled Uther as they stood leaning on the rail watching the coast pass them.

  'Patience, Uther. We will arrive very soon, I think. We are watching for a peak, some way inland from the coast that rises high above the rest and has a peculiar shape. I thought it resembled a ram's horn the last time I observed it from the sea.' Merlyn rubbed a hand over his face to wipe the accumulation of rain and spray from his beard and then screwed up his eyes, peering out at the distant hills. 'I have seen it on two past occasions. There will be no confusion for us when we arrive, but we are not there as yet.'

  Behind Uther, the tribesmen took up the oars and began rowing to the songs of the oar master whose job it was to keep the rowers in pace with each other. His singing of familiar rhythmic songs that the rowers joined in with had quickly become a natural part of the boat, with favourites called for and often repeated. Uther saw that Sir Ector had taken a seat at the oar-bench. He was aware that the old warrior and also Cunobelin had spent much of the voyage either sitting their turn at the oars, encouraging others as they rowed or aiding those that had just sat back from their turn, nursing sore muscles and strained backs. Throughout his period of sickness, Uther had given little regard to anyone else on the vessel and he was suddenly glad that not everyone had suffered as he had and especially pleased that Sir Ector had been able to take command in his place. He spat the remains of his gingiber over the side and watched it float back to be swallowed by the sea. Then he took another small strip from inside his tunic and put it under his tongue, hoping that Merlyn had a good supply for the return trip.

  'It works well, does it not?' Uther turned to see Merlyn grinning at him again.

  'It has returned me to life, old friend,' said Uther breathing deeply. 'I trust that the casket I saw brought on board for you, contains a goodly supply?'

  'It does, but your sickness is now past, Uther. You are well enough to begin preparing for when we land.'

  'Preparing in what way? What are we likely to encounter, Merlyn? Do you know something of what awaits us? Will the tribes attack us as soon as we land… or are you taking us into Saxon territory?'

  Merlyn leant on the
ship's side and stared into the water for a moment, apparently choosing his words with care before replying. 'It is not the Saxon we need fear on this quest, Uther, nor the local tribes, not really, although they may not be too happy that we plan to remove their sacred stones. No, the true danger of our quest will be borne by just one of us and we have no idea who that man might be.'

  'Riddles, Druid. You always speak in riddles. Will you not tell me something of the nature of this danger? Must we fight some terrible monster? Or scale an impossible cliff? I will gladly take this challenge myself if needs be, yet I would dearly like to know the challenge to which I must submit.'

  'It may be you, Uther, but then it may not, we shall see. For when we make camp at the base of Mount Killaraus, we shall meet with the Druids who dwell there, and if they are to allow us to remove the stones, they will undoubtedly have a task to show we are worthy. It is not a task that I have foreknowledge of, so it makes it a bit difficult to be ready… doesn't it?'

  'More Druids? Why is it you Druids make things so complicated? I would rather just fight, get the stones, and move on.'

  Merlyn smiled. 'Oh, but Uther, when was life ever easy and uncomplicated? I am sure we shall prevail. Anyway, it does make life a bit more interesting, doesn't it… and I know you like a challenge.' Merlyn looked up and pointed before Uther could reply. 'Our journey by sea is almost over. I believe we are getting close now. Look, just beyond that headland… there,' - Merlyn pointed - 'I think that may well be Mount Killaraus peeking out of the clouds there. Does that look like a mountain to you?'

  Uther stared ahead through the thin misty cloud to where Merlyn was waving his hand and saw what appeared to be a tall cloud formation amongst the wispy grey layers, but then the more he stared, it did start to look more solid, and he realised that Merlyn was right, it was indeed a mountain.