The Shadow of a King (Shadowland Book 2) (27 page)

'And how am I, a mere Druid, supposed to accomplish that for you, Uther?'

'You are not a 'mere' anything, old man. I do not know how you will aid me just yet, but I will surely think of a way. Firstly, we have the Duc and his walls to deal with, which is why I need both you and Sir Ector.' He looked across the fire to Sir Ector. 'We will need to get into the walls of Isca, or we will need to bring our Duc out… any suggestions?'

The warriors of the tribes dug in, huddling close around their fires for three days while the winter threw its cruellest, coldest weather at them. The shelters they had constructed, for the most part, were made from a large number of supple saplings that had been carried upon the carts. They were placed in a circle, bent and fashioned into the shape of a hut, covered with animal hides and then thatched with gathered branches. They were warm, dry and with a fire at the centre of each, the warriors were able to cook their staple of barley pottage. The ingredients of the pottage in each hut differed slightly, but as very few were able to add any meat, most of the differences came from the variety of seeds and vegetables being carried by the warriors in each hut. They told stories, sang songs, and joked with each other to relieve the boredom and keep chills at bay, whilst the pottage continually cooked.

Merlyn and his Druids did their best to try and appease the blue faced hag, Cailleach, Goddess of winter, by making offerings of hastily gathered roots, dried flowers, and of course, blood, the meat from each sacrificed lamb, goat or chicken being offered for the pottage in different huts. Uther regarded their ceremonies with interest and hope, but a look to the cloudy sky showed that the Goddess still had a mind to torment them and that the Druids were being ignored. Snow continued to fall without let, covering the forest and all its surroundings in a thick, if not beautiful, blanket of deadly cold. Thin trails of smoke rose from white mounds beneath which the warriors huddled in their huts, praying to their Gods, and waiting for the hag to lose interest in her game so that the cold might end.

At dawn, on the fourth day of their forced confinement, the warriors emerged to find that the snow had finally stopped falling. A cold, crisp morning lay under a deep blue sky suggesting that the hag had finally turned her attention elsewhere and that a change had occurred in the weather, hopefully, she had found some Saxons to chill.

Merlyn, of course, claimed the change was because of his devotions. At his request the spirits of the ancestors had intervened on their behalf, Cailleach had been persuaded to leave, and the Gods were once more smiling upon them.

As Merlyn and Uther mounted their horses and moved off to be at the head of the column, they passed carts and chariots being dug from the snow and being piled high with the hut building materials and all the many other entrapments that the mass of warriors needed on the move. While huts were being dismantled, many of the tribesmen travelling on foot were already being led onto the path between the trees. Horsemen and chariots would follow and soon pass them with Sir Ector at their head, having sent out bands of scouts at first light to clear the way and send word back should they encounter the Cornovii. All knew that this was to be the final part of their journey to Isca, this was the day they would encounter the combined might of the Cornovii and Dumnonii, and their King would face the Duc.

Tintagel was an important part of the Cornovii, Dumnonii trading empire. Many boats anchored in the bay below the fortress to bring goods ashore, boats that had journeyed from all over the known world. It was a second home to Igraine and without Gerlois there she finally had time to heal, to be with her remaining daughters and to walk wherever she wished without the restriction of the Duc's rules and his demands that she stay constantly by his side. Although her father's village of Tamara was less than a day's walk inland, she had not seen him in many months because of Gerlois' rules, in the spring thaw, she would visit. She felt more content at Tintagel than in the larger settlements of Isca or Dimilioc; it was home. Isca was two days travel east by cart, where her thoughts persistently were as she thought of Morgana and worried for her safety while Dimilioc was just half a day's ride.

The Isle of Tintagel was home to the small wooden fortress, which comprised of a stone and wood palisade that surrounded four small halls and her own larger hall. There was also a small community of traders, shepherds, and fishermen who lived in huts that dotted the isle. She was well liked by all who lived there, both amongst the people upon the isle and also in the village of Tintagel itself, which was over on the mainland. Whenever she was there, Igraine would spend time roaming the windy isle, either alone or accompanied by one or more of her daughters. On fine days she would cross the bridge that spanned the defensive ditch, to either stroll along the cliff path or to walk on into the village, to meet and talk with the villagers, many of whom she called friends.

Now, however, the weather confined her to the fortress, the wind howling as it drove sleet and snow against the shuttered window openings and rustled through the thick thatch above their heads. They gathered around the central fire and sang songs, roasted nuts, told stories and thanked the spirits that they had survived their sea voyage.

'When the snow stops then the sun will come to warm us,' Igraine smiled around at Morgause and Elaine. 'Shall we climb down to the caves? Would you like that?'

'It smells down there, and it will be slippery on the rocks,' said Morgause in a sulky voice.

'I think I will stay here, by this fire until Beltane, and it is time to come out and dance,' said Elaine with a giggle. 'I hate the cold.'

'You know that Morgana would call you both babies,' said Igraine, smiling at the thought of her missing daughter. She would want to climb down the path and take a boat, even if it was still snowing.

'The big cave is magnificent,' said Elaine. 'So much bigger inside. Morgana always says that a great sea serpent calls it home. You don't think that do you, Mother?' Morgause looked to Igraine for reassurance.

'Morgana only says that because she enjoys scaring you,' said Igraine with a smile. 'There are no monsters in any of the caves, so nobody needs to worry or even think about it.' Both Morgause and Elaine looked relieved. 'Anyway, today is not a day to go down to the caves. It will be some time before we can comfortably leave here. Now, I know that we have some honey, would either of you like to bake hearth cakes?' The girls squealed in delight and preparations were made to bake the cakes. It was always difficult filling the time when the weather held them captive, but Igraine could only thank the spirits that the cold weather had waited until their sea voyage was over. One of the Gods or some great spirit was watching over them she felt, that was for sure. She hoped Morgana was faring well and was warm, dry and happy with her father.

The first stones of the conflict were slung just as light was fading and the Duc of the Cornovii had thrown his last insult. They clattered against the solid trunks of the palisade and didn't strike anyone.

'No more stones,' called Uther as he walked back towards his men shaking his head, 'he is not worth it. The man is pathetic; he knows we're here and that we will have to reach an agreement. He is being obstinate, trying to be something he clearly isn't in front of his men, that is all.' He walked back through his ranks with Merlyn and Sir Ector quickly falling in behind him.

'Sir Ector, I tire of playing games with the Duc. You will not like what I propose, but I have a way of getting information. I will need two of your men to accompany me while you create a distraction here at the gate. We shall end this matter quickly I think.'

'Uther…' Merlyn took hold of the King's sleeve and forced him to turn around. 'Uther what are you planning and why won't we like it?'

'Fear not,' replied Uther. 'All will be well, and we won't be too cold while we wait on the Duc's pleasure. We're going to burn his gate. It will keep us warm, upset him, and make a nice distraction.'

Upon arriving at the fortified town of Isca, for that was what it was, a fortified town rather than just a fortress. Sir Ector had approached the gate and called for Duc Gerlois to show himself so that King Uther Pendragon might speak with him. Behind Uther and his small group, the warriors of the tribes were making their camp in the forest, some five hundred paces from the wooden palisade of the town. Standing over the gate, Cornovii warriors stared down at Uther and his party saying nothing, Uther only had to assume that the request for Gerlois to show himself would, in fact, reach the Duc. After quite a significant period of time, they were beginning to wonder if word had been sent to the Duc when he finally showed himself, standing beside his men, one hand resting casually upon the shoulder of a young girl. Uther recognised her as one of his daughters while the Duc held a haunch of meat that he waved around between bites to emphasis his points when he started speaking.

'King Uther, I am heartened to see you. I did explain to Sir Ector there,' he waved the meat towards Sir Ector, 'that I was bitterly disappointed at having been called away from the celebrations at your fortress. I was told of events here that demanded my immediate return… I did explain.'

'Duc Gerlois, please open your gates so that I might enter with my retinue. I think it best that we might discuss the problems between us in a little more comfort than this. You have caused me to march many days through the foulest of weather, will you not bid me enter and offer me hospitality?' Uther's horse had edged forward, it stamped at the ground and shook its head, clearly aware of the anger that Uther was barely keeping in check as he looked up at the Duc and his daughter.

'King Uther, the town is full, I shudder to think of what paltry accommodation I might be able to offer you should I bid you enter now, we are so unprepared, and you sent no word of your coming.' Duc Gerlois peered down at Uther and offered a sickly smile. 'If you could come back in a few days I am sure we would have something more suitable prepared for you. For now, I think you would be much more comfortable in your pavilion.' He dropped the bone he had been gnawing over the side and sucked on his fingers, one after another, still looking at Uther.

'How dare you speak to your King in this…'

'Do not banter with him,' Uther, cut Sir Ector off, 'he understands only too well how he insults me while he hides behind his daughter.' Around Uther, the warriors with him began to spin their slings, the sound a whirr in the air like a hive of angry bees, the war hounds at their sides growling, hackles raised in anticipation of being set loose. Uther raised his voice to be heard above the sound. 'Perhaps, Gerlois, I may indeed be more comfortable amongst my own after all, but I am very sure that I shall be sitting at your table presently. Just as soon as the Dumnonii and Cornovii are once again counted amongst the allied tribes. I wonder if it will be you sitting at that table beside me; you play a dangerous game.' He turned his horse without waiting for a reply and heard the slingers stones clatter against the palisade.

'No more stones,' called back Uther angrily. 'Did you not see the girl? That man is pathetic.'