The Shadow of a King (Shadowland Book 2)

by C. M. Gray

  The shadows of night were closing in when his waiting finally came to an end with the return of Sir Ector and his warriors. The clatter of the horses' hooves and rumbling chariot wheels echoing loud from down in the lower yard. The sound rising above the dripping of rain and the clamour of fortress life, jerking Uther from his sullen mood. A surge of anticipation flowed through him, and he stood up and paced the floor, the rushes rustling and whispering beneath his feet, waiting expectantly for news of Duc Gerlois and far more importantly, of Igraine. Moments past, and stretched into even greater spans as Sir Ector did not show. Uther returned to the fire and stabbed angrily at it with a stick. It spat back and sent up a plume of crackling red embers. After what to him seemed half the night, a weary Sir Ector finally walked into the hall.

  Uther glanced up and frowned. 'Why do I not see Duc Gerlois on his knees begging me for an apology? What happened, Ector? Did they outpace you? Or were they joined by an even larger Cornovii force, which even now are beating at the gates threatening to take possession of my fortress?' He threw the stick onto the fire and rose to face Sir Ector. The older man was tired, he could see that, but impatience and disappointment had caused his anger to rise again. Biting back another barbed comment, because he knew he was being ridiculous, Uther drew in a breath, waved Sir Ector towards a seat across the fire, and waited for an explanation.

  'They took to their boats. We caught up with them just as they were finishing the loading and were about to depart. Words were exchanged. The Duc was firstly invited and then instructed more firmly to return. However, he refused, and we felt compelled to use force, a fight of sorts ensued, but it was too late. We lost a horse, and two of our warriors were injured in the skirmish. He was not going to return, Uther. There was no persuading him, and they were already beyond our reach when we arrived.'

  'Did you see the Lady Igraine? Was she…?' For a moment, Uther didn't know what to say. He was probably unaware of his hand held out as if waiting to be given something, some token of knowledge that Igraine had been seen and was well. He stared at Sir Ector and could see that he was uncomfortable. He sighed and dropped his hand, aware of how foolish all of this must seem.

  'The Lady Igraine… the Duc's wife was on the boat with her daughters. I did as you instructed and explained that we had reason to fear for her safety, but we were too late. All the vessels were away and midstream very quickly. I couldn't get to her, and she remained silent throughout. I could not tell if she wanted to return with us or remain with her husband, I am sorry, King Uther, I have failed you.'

  'No, Sir Ector, the Duc has failed us all. No fault lays at your feet. We will deal with our errant Duc, now, during this winter before the Saxons stir from their cold sleep and bring their troubles upon us once more. I shall call a special meeting of the lords and chiefs tomorrow morning before they depart for their halls and tribal lands. By Beltane, we shall have a greater understanding between us, or a new ruler shall hold court in the lands of the Cornovii and Dumnonii.

  The blow took Igraine quite by surprise. She had been sitting beside Morgause, holding her daughter close for comfort and warmth, staring out across the featureless horizon as cold wind tousled the shawls they clutched to their heads and the boat rose and fell beneath them. Her attention had been far away, dreaming and wishing she were anywhere but on this boat. The very next moment she found herself sprawled across the deck, her head ringing and the side of her face screaming in pain. She heard a wailing cry and realised it was coming from her and that Morgause was trying to roll her over.

  'Mother… Mother!'

  Igraine cut her cry short and tried to gather herself. She drew in two, deep, ragged breaths and then glanced up past her daughter into the angry face of Gerlois as he towered over them both, his feet set wide apart to brace against the roll of the waves. Just past him, at the far end of the boat perched upon the prow, she could see Morgana; thankfully oblivious to anything but the joy of being at sea and the spray of the waves. She was glad her youngest had been spared seeing her mother struck, but the other children, Elaine amongst them, were staring at her with different mixtures of fear and horror written upon their young faces. One of the other women was trying to hush the little boy who was sobbing again.

  Gently pushing Morgause to the side, Igraine heaved herself into a sitting position. 'I will be all right, child. Go, join your sisters. Your father wishes to speak with me, he…'

  Gerlois stepped closer and bent down beside them. 'Her father wishes to know why Uther Pendragon takes such an interest in you, bitch? Did you lay with him? Is this why he spurns and dishonours me so? Why he sends his dog, Ector, in search of us? They came after all of us, yet it was you he sought out… don't think I didn't notice that. The Lady Igraine is in danger, he said… but danger from whom, from Saxon raiders? Samhain spirits? Me?' He stared down at her, his face angry and flushed red, the cold wind tugging at his hair. 'So help me, woman, I will kill you rather than lose you to that whelp of a King, and I will take out your eyes if I find you have been unfaithful to me. Do you hear me, bitch?' Spittle sprayed as he spoke, she felt some alight upon her face, and she stifled the impulse to wipe it away.

  His face loomed so close to hers that she could smell onions upon his breath, and part of her mind asked when he had found time to eat them. 'Do you understand what I am saying, Igraine? You will abide close by me from this day forth and not stray. I will have you faithful, like the bitch you are, or there will be an end to our union, and you would not like the way that I would end it. Now get back to the children and shut those snivelling brats up or I will feed them to the fish.' He stood and glared at Morgause, who remained defiantly close to her mother, trembling, and then he stamped his foot close to the small weeping boy who shrieked and hid his face, which only made Gerlois growl at him and then laugh.

  As he rejoined the warriors at the steering oar, Gerlois snatched the small brown goat being held out to him by one of his men and crossed to the side. Drawing breath he bellowed out across the waves.

  'Hear me, Lyr, great God of the sea. I ask that you aid us by soothing the waters and allow our passage to pass without hindrance.' He held the goat up by the skin of its neck in one hand, high above his head while in the other hand, he held his knife. The goat gave a weak kick and then stopped moving and hung still as if resigned to its fate. 'Bring us fair weather and allow us to pass across your Kingdom in peace. I offer you this life in payment for our intrusion.'

  With one swift movement, he brought knife and goat together and slit the goat's scrawny neck. Blood splattered down upon him and across the boat's side, and then out over the sea as he held the little carcass above the waves, it twitched feebly as its spirit was released. After a moment, Gerlois turned his blood splattered face towards Igraine, who still lay upon the deck, half raised upon one elbow. The goat was hanging in his hand, still now, a trail of bright red blood dripping to the boards. He stared at her for a moment, then he tossed the frail body over the side and returned to his men.

  Igraine crawled back to her daughters and held them, as the boat rolled beneath them and the cold, salty spray mixed with a drizzling rain continued to soak them. She could hear Gerlois' horse whinnying in alarm and the stamp of its hooves. A soft voice tried to calm it and after a short while, it did indeed quieten down. Drawing her daughters closer still, she stifled a sob and wondered at the madness of her husband and what the spirits truly had in store for her.

  Night was always the worse time to be travelling by sea and was more often an experience to be avoided. As the light bled from the sky in a weak mockery of a sunset, Igraine waited in vain for the boat to change course towards the coast. After a while, she felt her spirits fade, and a shiver of fear and resignation run through her as she accepted they would be spending the hours of darkness at sea. It left her feeling numb, unsure how she was going to be able to cope. There would be no rest from the discomfort, the constant movement of the deck or the gusting wind that howled through the ropes and ac
ross the deck, driving the wet, stinging salt of the sea, robbing them of all warmth. On almost every other voyage that she had been forced to endure, when the day had been done they had headed into the coast and beached the craft or found some river inlet to drop an anchor stone. They had found a place to rest, to change into dry clothes, find comfort and seek the warmth of a fire, but it obviously wasn't to be on this night. Gerlois was indeed a driven man, possessed with the need to be back within his own lands and so they sailed on.

  Darkness gradually consumed them. It robbed them of any sight of the coast and the familiar landmarks she knew the boat's master normally sought so that he might know where they were or how close they may be straying towards any treacherous rocks. She watched as shadowy figures crossed towards them and tugged the small, whimpering boy from the clutches of his mother. The child's voice rose in a wailing protest as the men dragged him away, the mother screaming, hands held out trying to get a grip upon her son.

  'Nooooo… no, no no…'

  Igraine couldn't quite believe what she was seeing, even as it happened before her very eyes. It took her a moment to react from the listless apathy that had been holding her. The boy was handed across to Gerlois; the mother shrieking hysterically was pushed down to the deck as Gerlois produced his knife and held the child by one foot to dangle headfirst above the dark, inky waves, just as he had done with the goat earlier.

  'Gerlois, no!' Igraine found her voice and tried to rise to her feet but she was stiff and slow. 'Gerlois. Have you lost your senses…? He is a child; this is no goat. What possesses you? Let him go, please… please.'

  Gerlois turned and looked back at Igraine, he was just a shadow against the darkening sky, but she knew the look of loathing that was directed at her and she shrank back, hating her inability to do something…. anything to turn him from the abhorrent act he was about to commit.

  'His father died back there on the riverbank,' called Gerlois, 'and now this child is nothing but a worthless wretch that will die of hunger, or the sickness before the winter is done.' The child wailed again, and Gerlois shook him. 'Silence you little shit.' He slapped the child to stop him moving, but the boy screamed even more and kicked, showing more fight than anyone might have given him credit for, squealing like a speared pig before subsiding to plaintive sobs, calling for his mother, strings of snot trailing in the wind.

  'Now he, at least, has a purpose. Go talk to Lyr, and now also to Dylan, who is God of these seas hereabouts, and ask him to grant us safe passage.' The shadow of Gerlois' arm raised, there was a quick motion towards the boy followed by a gurgling scream, and then Gerlois let go of his charge and leant over the side of the boat as the water claimed the body.

  'I give this offering to you, oh great God Lyr, and to you, Dylan. May this, oh so precious life, be payment for your good favours and protection of this vessel and all who journey within it.'

  Gerlois turned, his task completed, wiped his hand on his cloak and then crossed to stand before Igraine.

  'We do what we need to do to complete our journey. Now shut your hole and stop that stupid bitch from screaming too, or I will have my men plow her and give her another son to make up for that worthless little shit.' He laughed as he walked away and Igraine felt a burning hatred, the like of which she had never experienced before. She did not know this man, this man whom she had called husband. She crawled across to the boy's mother to try and give some small comfort, although she knew not what she could say or do. To take the life of a child to placate a God, or Gods, yet surely these Gods must now look upon them with less respect, not with more.

  'Shhh, hush now.' She held the woman against her chest feeling the sobs and grief shake her.

  'Your boy has gone to play with Dylan, I know of this God, do you?' There was no answer, but she decided all she could do was speak and hope the sound of her voice brought comfort.

  'The God Lyr is well known to all of us who sail upon the God's waters, but Dylan, he is less known. He was born a mortal child, to mortal parents and loved the sea. He grew up to love it so much that stories tell that he swum with the fish before he could walk and then one day, so the tales go, he escaped his parent's arms to remain deep in the depths where he joined the ranks of the Gods.' The woman's sobs continued as Igraine rocked her, but the trembling had calmed a little as she listened.

  'Dylan is known to call these waters where we now sail, off the coast of Cymru, his home. He plays with ships the way small boys are often playful with bugs as they pull off their legs, your boy will swim alongside Dylan and they can play together now.' She knew it was important that they request both Lyr and Dylan to allow them to pass and that Dylan play fair, but to call upon the God's favour with the life of a child? Gerlois had not only changed; he had now become a monster in her eyes.

  She rocked the weeping woman and patted her back wishing there was more she could do. A surge of resentment swept through her as the darkness became almost complete, robbing her of sight. It was an anger toward her murdering husband and his stubborn foolhardiness, forcing them to remain at sea and bear this ordeal when she could see no necessity to inflict any of this upon them. There were women and children on board, not just some party of raiding warriors. Why could he not understand that and show some shred of compassion? The cold wind tugged at her wet hair drawing it from under her headdress and making it dance about her exposed face, but she felt too tired to try and cover it again. She hugged the boy's mother to her and welcomed her daughters with her other arm as cold tears slid down her face unseen, but then after a short while, she sniffed them back. Staring up into the gloom, she softly implored Lyr to clear away the clouds and take the drizzling rain away. If the clouds departed, then the stars might be revealed to guide them or, best of all, the moon might light their passing

  Despite her discomfort, at some point, she must have dozed because she woke with a start and for one blessed moment didn't know where she was. She had been dreaming of Pendragon fortress, of the music and dancing at the Samhain festival and of course of the moments when she had shared such an intimate conversation in the shadows with King Uther. In the dream, they had laughed, and he had taken her hand and implored her to dance with him, drawing her from the darkness out into the light. She had felt happiness surge through her body, but then she had awoken and realisation struck as her body quickly reminded her that she was wet and sitting upon a hard wooden deck. Then before that, for most of the day, she had sat in the back of an uncomfortable cart, so her buttocks were both numb and bruised and would be aching for days. She sighed, much longer like this and the bruises would be turning to sores, which renewed her worries for the children and invoked another softly muttered curse upon Gerlois.

  Then the pains in her back made themselves known, and she tried to move a little, this drew a weak moan from Morgana. Oh, this was just intolerable, sitting for so long without the chance to stand and stretch. She shivered, squeezed water from her shawl before wrapping it back around her and Morgana, and wished she had stayed asleep.

  She could hear the horse moving, feel through the boards beneath her when its hooves stomped upon the deck. Poor creature, she had forgotten that it was suffering too. Drawing a deeper breath, she tried to shake the feeling of despair. Tried to believe that it really would all be over soon. Grimacing, she turned her neck, rocking it slowly from side to side to work out the stiffness and ease the discomfort. About her, just visible in what little ambient light there was, were the shapes of the women and the children in her little group, bunched closely together. The whimpering of one or more of the children could be heard as they slept, mixing amongst the other sounds of the boat as it creaked and splashed, rose and fell, meeting the waves, with the wind and water hissing about them.

  Oh, by the spirits, but this was a wretched experience for all of them, and she knew it. There would be at least two more nights at sea if Gerlois didn't have a change of heart and head for the coast, who else might he sacrifice in his demented need to sail on
? Were her girls safe from their own father? Was she? She fretted and fussed, and then her eyes were drawn upwards as without any warning, the night sky seemed to awaken, the clouds slowly drawing apart, allowing the first moonlight to break through and reveal the churning sea, painting the waves and the boat in its cold, silvery light.

  Looking out across the now visible seascape of rolling white-capped waves, she wondered at the beauty of it all, and then glanced up and felt her feelings of despair slip further away to be replaced by awe as the full majesty of the stars was fully revealed. A vast scattering of constellations, their light painting the edges of the retreating clouds. It lightened her heart, and she drew in a breath of cold salty air, her eyes flittering from one group of stars to the next. At the highest point overhead, the stars seemed to be grouped much closer together, appearing as a river flowing wide across the dark sky. The Druids, she knew, called it the white river and told that it was governed over by the Goddess Arianrhod, who they said was the true mother of the sea God Dylan. It was along this silvery pathway that they said the spirits of the dead must be carried on their way to the Shadowland.

  Feeling better than she had in days, she realised how small her problems were in the eyes of the Gods and that anything and all was allowed to be possible in this life. She had been born in a village to the chieftain of the Cornovii, been married to a Duc, born beautiful daughters and travelled to the ends of the land. And now she had a King casting his eye towards her. She may be cold and wet, and in the middle of the sea, but what future might possibly lay before her, she could not even begin to imagine, but for now, at least, she could dream…