The Shadow of a King (Shadowland Book 2) (21 page)

'Tell me something of you Maude? Where are you from? How is it that I am favoured with you as my guardian, my ever-present shadow in this my time of need?

'There is little to tell, Sire; you should sleep.'

He stared up at her and smiled as she held the cup to his lips again.

'Very well. But I am just a simple person; there is little to tell. I am the daughter of a warrior, my father; he talked about you and the victories you shared at Mount Badon and Aegelsthorpe, he was a very proud man and very loyal to you. He told me of the early days when you were gathering the tribes. The difficulties that you had. My mother died birthing me, so I was brought up in a large communal roundhouse with many other children for company, so I had lots of opportunities to learn how to fight.' She smiled and raised the cup to his lips once again. 'When my father would return from his service with you, he would train us. It was all I ever wanted, to grow up and be like him, to fight near you… and now I am privileged to protect you while you heal. It is my honour to be here and look after you, my Lord, a very great honour indeed, my father smiles at me from the Shadowland, I shall not leave your side.'

Uther reached out and took her hand. 'Thank you, Maude, it is I who am honoured, to have you as my guardian in this, my time of need.'

Maude smiled and drew her hand away. 'Did Sir Ector bring back the Duc and the Lady Igraine? What happened?

'Let me sleep now. Tomorrow I will tell you of Igraine's experience, just as she retold it to me many years later. Morgana will be most unhappy if she doesn't hear of her mother's account. Poor Igraine was cold, confused and in a lot of pain.'

 Chapter 17 
Flight

There were six children and two women in the open cart, huddled together around the Duc's baggage and belongings, trying their best to keep warm in the late morning, which was cold and wet. The constantly rumbling, bucking cart was most uncomfortable, and so despite the softness of the bags around which they lay, the occupants were sullen and miserable. The party had moved at a rapid pace and this, coupled with the uneven, frost-hardened track, was making the boards beneath the occupants' buttocks bounce and jump alarmingly, leaving them bruised and hurting.

A man with little hair and fewer manners sat on the front bench. Igraine didn't know him and certainly had no wish to become acquainted. He was rude, stank of stale old sweat, and horses, and it was obvious he thought nothing of his passengers' comfort. He was forever whipping the oxen, pushing them, again and again, to make them move faster, which made the cart bounce alarmingly. If that wasn't enough, he was being hurried further by the demands of the man who rode close to the cart astride a big white horse, Duc Gerlois. Igraine calculated that it must now be close to the middle of the day. They had been travelling like this for what seemed an age, and the pace of their flight had never ebbed, the poor animals must be exhausted.

It had been this hectic since they had first woken in the silent darkness of predawn. In the cold and dark they had been shaken awake and told abruptly, that they were leaving, no other explanation had been given. She had woken the children, who were naturally full of questions for which she had no answer, so they were left moving around in hushed whispers and confusion. All of it because her husband refused to explain, to stop, to rest, or even to slow down. It was obvious yet unthinkable that they were running away, fleeing from the fortress, from the King, without permission to leave.

Igraine ground her teeth, tried to endure, and wished she had found a chance to delay or refuse to leave her sleeping pallet altogether, but it had all been so fast and so early. They had been woken and sneaked away as if they were Samhain spirits returning through the veil between worlds, returning to the Shadowland. Except they weren't spirits, they were a frightened and confused group of people unsure of what was happening and why they were leaving.

Right now, in the back of the cart, Igraine felt numb as she peered out from beneath her course woollen cloak. It was wet and hung heavily over her, but at least it was still keeping most of the drizzling rain from drenching her further, but she would dearly love to stop and wring the water from it. Without any warning, one of the cart's wheels crashed into a pothole, delivering a jolting shock that made her flinch. Keeping her composure, she swallowed the pain, there was little else she could do, it wasn't the first time it had happened and no doubt it wouldn't be the last.

Gerlois was coming into view every time he came close to yell at the carter. She stared at him through her one good eye, the other still swollen shut from where he had hit her. What had happened? What had he done to make him like this? She hardly recognised him. He had never been the most pleasant of men, but a huge change had taken place while he had been away. He looked constantly worried and continually glanced back, obviously in fear that pursuers would catch up with them at any moment. She almost felt sorry for him, well almost. He kept yelling at the carter for not moving faster or the warriors on horses for not staying close; he appeared scared and that wasn't like him. She hugged Elaine, her second youngest daughter to her and smiled across to where Morgause her oldest, and Morgana her youngest, sat huddled close together. The other three children in the cart, two girls and a young boy with a wet, snotty nose who hadn't stopped crying since they departed, had parents within the circle of Gerlois' closest followers. She noted that Morgause still appeared tearful, yet Morgana was clearly untroubled by the rude awakening or the bumpy ride, in fact, she seemed quite happy.

The cart abruptly turned, bounced over some uneven ground and then rumbled through a grove of trees before slewing to a halt. Even though she couldn't see them properly over the sides of the cart, she was aware of the riders bunching up, clustering around. She could hear horses and men panting and horses' hooves stamping, muffled upon fallen leaves. Igraine and the children remained seated for a moment, expecting that the cart would start forward again as it had done on numerous other occasions this morning, but it didn't. They could hear more voices now, tired horses snorting and the jingle of harnesses as riders dismounted, and it became apparent that they had arrived at wherever they were heading. The warriors called and joked with one another, happy the ride was at an end, and she dared to believe that the ordeal might be over.

First one, and then a second loud bang made the cart jerk forward as both they and the oxen jumped, and then she watched as Morgana pulled herself up onto her knees and peered over the edge; that one was always first to jump up. Igraine waited for her daughter to report what was happening, but instead the child stood up and began cheerfully clambering over the side.

'Morgana, no… what are you doing?' Igraine pushed the sodden cloak to the side and tried to rise, but she was stiff and her body seemed to hurt all over. She cursed and rubbed her lower back and then her legs, which were threatening to cramp. The needs of the children were suddenly being voiced, their calls of hunger and the wish to know, what was happening? Why had they stopped? Where were they?

'Shhh, my loves. Let us be quiet. We will find some bread and some cold meats for you soon, hush. Let us wait and see if we are to stay here or if we are moving on.' She glanced around to get her bearings and saw they had drawn up in a clearing amongst trees on the bank of a wide river. Three boats were moored close to where her husband was standing, two vessels tied hard against the bank and a third moored further upstream. Gerlois was paying the carter and they were haggling animatedly – he always haggled, the smelly carter didn't look best pleased. Most lords would leave this minor duty to one of their men, but Gerlois loved to argue about money with anyone.

Behind the cart, one of the warriors began gathering the horses, tying them to a long rope, probably so they could be taken back overland. The horses belonged to the Cornovii, but there was clearly not enough room to take them all on the boats, if that was indeed Gerlois plan, to sail – he had told her nothing of his plans.

It seemed they would be stopping here for a while at least, so she started to organise everyone out of the cart. A man called something as he ran down the heavy plank spanning the gap between boat and land; one of the loud bangs she had heard must have been as the crew had dropped the plank down. The boats were also Cornovii, she recognised several seamen and certainly the gnarled features of the boat master who was now helping several warriors persuade Gerlois' great, white horse to walk up the bouncing plank and onto the deck. The man must surely be close to fifty years. His skin was tanned dark, like old leather and crusted with the salt of all his years at sea. He was bent with age, had short grey hair cropped close to a mottled scalp, and piercing blue eyes the colour of a storm-whipped sea. Igraine was sure she wouldn't like him, which troubled her. She tried to like and get on with most people around her, be they from the higher groups of the tribal Council's warriors or one of the servants. She was even considerate to serfs and slaves. It was just some of the men Gerlois employed that she found so distasteful, she wasn't sure why.

She continued to rub at her back as she hoisted herself up on unsteady legs and watched as Gerlois' horse whinnied and stamped its hooves, its hot breath a pluming white cloud in the chill wet air. They had placed a cloth over its eyes, but its ears were twitching and it was snorting and prancing in alarm as it realised where they were trying to guide it.

'
Morgana, no!
' called Igraine, and then she sighed. The child was running over to help with the horse, but then it was highly likely the girl would be able to calm the beast better than the warriors, that one had a way with animals. Clambering down, she stretched her back which felt good, and glanced up through the cover of yellow and brown leaves at patches of grey cloud floating past high above. It was still cold, and the rain falling above the trees was dripping through the canopy; it was a truly awful day to be travelling far that was for sure. Gerlois must have his reasons, but she worried what those reasons might be and where he might be leading them.

'Keep away woman,' the carter growled irritably, as he strode past them and pulled himself up to his seat. She drew the two girls back and cautioned the other children to stay clear as two warriors pushed past them to jump up while another held tight to the oxen's harnesses forcing the cart to stay where it was. The warriors quickly began unloading the bags and bundles, throwing them down onto the wet ground, even while the carter was cursing his low payment and lashing the oxen, trying to break them from the warrior's grasp. The bundles were picked up by others, quickly taken over to the boats and thrown up into waiting hands, all while the carter continued to grumble and complain.

'Get on board, Igraine, and hurry, we must be away,' called Gerlois as he walked towards her. He pushed her and the girls roughly towards the boat, causing Igraine to stumble. 'You try my patience, woman, hurry I said, we need to be as quick as possible. If you cause any delay then I will leave you all here, I mean it, so do not make to test me.'

Lifting her skirts so she would not trip again, Igraine did as she was bid and hurried the children over to the boat. Morgause was first to step onto the wooden plank and a warrior extended a hand to her before quickly pulling her up the three steps between bank and deck.

'Now you, Elaine, get on the boat so that your father and the men can finish the loading.'

'But I'm hungry mother. We still need to break our fast. It's been so long since we woke. Why are we…?' she stopped talking abruptly as the thumping sound of horses hooves echoed through the trees. Everyone in the clearing stopped what they were doing and turned towards the sound. After a brief moment's hesitation, the warriors quickly dropped whatever they were doing and gathered to form a wall, shield's held together, tightly overlapping with their spears pointing through towards the sounds of the approaching horses, a barrier of warriors ready to fight, a lesson in war learnt from the Romans.

'Quickly… up now.' Alarmed, she clapped her hands behind Elaine and cast about for her youngest daughter. 'Morgana, on the boat… please.' Thankfully, there were no protests and Morgana ran unaided up the wooden plank and onto the deck where she clambered up to find a better vantage point to hug the mast and peer over the warriors' heads as three rumbling chariots accompanied by a large band of horsemen entered the clearing. Igraine gingerly walked up the plank, arms stretched out to either side for balance, then glanced around to see that her youngest daughter was grinning, delighted by the distraction, seemingly oblivious to the danger or of the drama and heightened tension that was unfolding around them.

The horsemen had pulled up as soon as they realised that they had caught up with their quarry. The chariots that were following close behind drew back on their reins, and for a moment there was confusion as horses and chariots tried to hold without being pushed onto the Cornovii shield wall. Order was quickly restored and the horses stood panting great clouds of breath, harnesses rattling as they shook their heads, shivering their great muscles as adrenaline continued to course through their veins; they had clearly been ridden hard. The newcomers were showing a mixture of tribal colours and swirling blue tattoos, and as they quietened their mounts, they eyed the line of men, spears and shields that faced them.

Igraine could see that they were from several tribes, possibly it was so no reason of offence might be offered to the Cornovii from a single tribe. One of the mounted warriors of the tribe, Atribates, which was evident from his dark green cloak, and with his hair gathered back and heavily limed so that it appeared white and solid, rode a little forward and called over the heads of the waiting Cornovii.

'Greetings, Duc Gerlois, warriors of the Cornovii. We bring you greetings from King Uther Pendragon, High King of all the tribes. The King has sent us in search of you so that we can request your return to Pendragon fortress. The King is in need of your counsel, Duc Gerlois.'

Gerlois pushed through his men, stepped ahead of the shields, and gave one of his small bows and little more than a nod of his head. 'Please thank King Uther, but we have an urgent need to return to our own the lands. An… unexpected situation has arisen that requires that we make all haste. Please offer my apologies to King Uther and explain that it has become unavoidable that we should leave.' Gerlois spun on his heels and walked back towards the boats. Igraine heard him mutter to the boat master, 'Be ready to cast off at my command.' He glanced back at the riders and she did the same thing, seeing that a small group, the leaders of this combined force, were talking amongst themselves. In front of her, the Cornovii warriors remained in their shield wall; the spear ends waving to and fro through the shields as they waited to see if they would be attacked and be called upon to defend their Lord. At the front of the boat the last of the bundles were being thrown up into waiting hands and Igraine realised that Uther's men were too late, everything was aboard and they were ready to leave, there would be no return to Pendragon fortress today.