M. K. Hume [King Arthur Trilogy 04] The Last Dragon (54 page)

A bubble of unholy laughter began to form at the base of Arthur’s throat as he sensed Bran’s embarrassment. Knowing his boy, Bedwyr elbowed him hard in the ribs.

‘So, do we attack the Saxons who have besieged Venta Belgarum? If we imagine a large city surrounded by even more enemy warriors than there were here, the situation will immediately become clear.’ Bran’s voice was sardonic, as if the honest part of his nature was belatedly admitting the potential problems that the Britons faced. ‘We shall hold a council of war tomorrow morning, after we have slept on this new information. We will consider our options before I issue my orders. Taliesin! Rhys! You will remain here, for I need to speak to you in private.’

Arthur and Bedwyr waited outside in the shadows of the trees surrounding the villa to discover how the sons of Myrddion would fare with Bran. They had to wait for some time.

The night was freezing, as if the absence of cloud cover permitted the god of winter to place his long, blue fingers on the earth to chill it. Every surface was burning to the touch and the snow was a crisp, stark blanket over all. The stillness seemed to enclose all of Calleva in a glass globe, invisible but ultimately fatal as the soft air was sucked out of the wintry town. Arthur felt the familiar itch settle into his head.

Eventually, just when Bedwyr was becoming seriously concerned about Taliesin and Rhys, the brothers stormed out of the mansion with their cloaks swirling around their shoulders in their haste and rage. Arthur and Bedwyr fell into step beside them and all four men returned to Taliesin’s spartan billet in the forum.

‘What did Bran want?’ Bedwyr demanded without preamble. ‘He’s obviously made you very angry. So tell us, master harper, in case Bran tries to enforce his decrees on you.’

Taliesin lowered himself onto a stone bench. Although he was still only thirty-six and at the peak of his powers, he moved like a much older man. This weariness was echoed in his powerfully built brother, who was near to three years younger than his sibling. Both men had obviously been dealt a vicious blow, and were now mentally licking their wounds until they could bring themselves to consider Bran’s ultimatum.

‘I look at Bran and I see traces of Artor in him – and my heart is sickened by the likeness,’ Taliesin began hesitantly.

‘Oh, spit it out, brother! Neither of us ever expected Bran to treat us like traitors. Nor did we believe he would threaten us – and
Mother
– if he doesn’t get his hands on more Marine Fire,’ Rhys snapped, his rage burning white-hot behind his dark eyes.

‘Are you going to obey him?’ Arthur asked carefully. He was appalled at the thought of such a monstrous weapon in Bran’s hands once again, not because Arthur believed the king was evil, but because Bran imagined that its use would save the Celtic people. Bran would do as he threatened, and burn every Saxon settlement to the ground.

‘No, we will not comply with his wishes,’ Taliesin replied for both men. ‘We will need to flee to Caer Gai, fast and hard, so that Mother can be warned and the hill people mustered to protect her. We don’t wish to go to war with Bran, but we will if he threatens Nimue again.’

Bedwyr nodded. ‘Without the use of Marine Fire, the south will fall and our people will be forced to abandon their lands, so I’m glad I don’t have to make your choices. As for now, do you need assistance to escape from Calleva? If you do, we can help. In fact, I’ve already had an excellent idea about how to mask your departure, but you’ll have to begin your preparations now.’

Wisely, Bedwyr was ignoring the underlying problem. As the possessors of the secret of Marine Fire, the sons of Myrddion were the only ones who could determine the fate of the Britons in the south-west. On them lay the harsh weight of thousands of lives, which must be weighed against the moral and ethical cost of utilising such a fearsome weapon.

And they decided to ensure that the key to the liquid was lost for ever.

The brothers packed speedily and moved down into one of the cellar rooms in the foundations below the baths. Tonight, Bedwyr reasoned, Bran would leave the brothers to stew over his demands. Tomorrow would see them quietly arrested, and the terrified kings would raise no objections. It was vital that Taliesin and Rhys should have made their escape before Bran came searching for them.

‘Stay here, regardless of the dangers, and ignore everything you hear unless it comes from us,’ Bedwyr warned them.

Above ground, the master of Arden began to make his preparations. ‘Arthur, Lorcan . . . all of you, let the populace know what lies in wait for them in the immediate future. Bran plans to leave Calleva to its fate, now that the south has fallen to the Saxons. Make sure they understand that Cerdic is angry beyond reason with Calleva because of his burned warriors, and he intends that the entire population will feel the lash of his rage. Believe me, within hours the citizens of Calleva will have made a decision to abandon their town and run. It will start as soon as the gates open, and quickly become a flood as people try to escape to the west with all the possessions they can carry.’

‘How does that help Taliesin and Rhys?’ Arthur asked, and then his intelligence showed him the answer. ‘Ah, the roads will become clogged as the wealthier citizens try to take as much with them as they can, and they’ll be able to escape in the resulting chaos at the gates.’

Bedwyr nodded. ‘It’s time to spread some rumours. Are you up for it? Can I depend on your garrulousness?’

‘Give me a couple of mugs of ale and I’ll be as indiscreet as you want,’ Father Lorcan answered with a wicked laugh.

‘And I,’ Germanus replied more seriously. ‘I’ve become heartily sick of King Bran over the last ten years. I never liked his attitude towards our boy and now he’s proved what kind of man he really is.’

‘I will enjoy elaborating on the Saxons’ probable thirst for blood,’ Gareth said with a twist to his thin upper lip. ‘I detest the destruction of British decency that we have experienced here. After the battle was over, I watched one of our peasants cut the fingers from a dead Saxon’s hand to steal his rings. Not one of our warriors tried to stop him, and I began to wonder where their pride had gone. Peasants will be good or bad, as will all men, but we warriors have a code. The Dragon King once decimated a cavalry troop to find the murderer of Nimue’s mother, because the slaughter of a pregnant woman was against all the rules of humanity. What of the destruction of the Severini gens in Aquae Sulis for the murder of children? Artor wouldn’t close his eyes to the affair because the Severini were of noble blood, as others had. When did we Celts begin to shirk the rules of honour that all warriors are instructed to follow? King Bran has presided over the collapse of the entire warrior code.’

Arthur felt they were being harsh in their assessment of Bran. Through their dislike for the king, they were damning the citizens of Calleva to either homelessness or death, but Arthur could see that the choices available to his kinsman were so hard that the tribulations of his fellow Britons were no longer of prime importance.

‘Good!’ Bedwyr purred. ‘Then we must get to work. After the arrival of the courier a number of rumours will already be spreading through the town. If your stories are added to the mish-mash, the population will soon be making their decisions to leave. I’d like to smuggle Taliesin and Rhys out among the evacuees as early as possible, for I smell trouble on the winds!’

As the five men rose to their feet, Arthur called his stepfather to one side. As soon as his companions were out of earshot, he whispered, ‘Where will you go if Arden should fall to the Saxons, as it eventually must? I shall worry if you have no plans, for we need a place the children can run to when the Saxons come for them.’

‘There’s a forest to the south of Deva. Caer Gai lies high above it in the mountains, and tributaries of the river that nourishes Deva flow through it. The forest has sufficient river-bottom land in the flatter areas for sheep and light agriculture. I have already taken the precaution of speaking to Deinol ap Delwyn and Causus Gallio. Neither the Deceangli tribe nor the people of Deva will object to our presence on that land. When I return to Arden, I will send a troop of warriors there under the command of Lasair, who will be fully grown by then. He will establish our settlement and begin the process of building a fortress within the new Arden. Don’t worry, Arthur. I won’t permit any of our honourable traditions to die. Gareth was right when he spoke of a moral decline in our people. We’re not what we were even ten years ago. I can only hope that God will help us in the trials that lie before us.’

‘I can’t fight for Bran, Father. I just won’t do it! I intend to ride to Tintagel to see my kinfolk there, although Eamonn and Bors are still a part of the alliance. I also have a desire to see Glastonbury, and perhaps the priests will show me the grave of the Dragon King. But I have no wish to see Cadbury, which Mother has described so vividly, for I know I would be disappointed with its present state after years of decline. Have no fears for me, Father, for I’ll be home within a year. But I must wash the taste of Calleva out of my mouth and strip the stench of it from my skin. Tell Mother that I love her.’

‘Just don’t be too long, my son. I’m an old man now, and I can’t last for ever.’

Arthur laughed. ‘You are immortal, Father. You and Nimue are the last living legends who possess memories of the Dragon King during the prime of his life. Taliesin only knew the older Artor, as did King Bran. You’re the last of the true believers.’

Whispers had already circulated through the army long before dawn came with swirls of sleet. Nothing is secret when couriers can be tempted by spiced wine and a warm woman, so the courier’s female companion soon became aware of the contents of the message delivered to Bran and she had no hesitation in fanning the rumours leaked to the eager ears of prostitutes and denizens of alehouses. When a further rumour described the desperate packing engaged in by the owner of the town sawmills, the very man who had provided accommodation to King Bran, panic began to grip both rich and poor. The man was determined to take everything but bricks and mortar with him, so all his servants and slaves were pressed into service to assist with the preparations for a frantic departure. The great wagons used for logging were brought in from the countryside as the timber merchant stripped his villa bare, literally under Bran’s nose. Even the sculpture in the atrium, the marble benches and the prized glassware were strapped down or crated on the ox-drawn carts. Beefy guards loaded a succession of strongboxes while his wife and daughters fluttered their hands, but still managed to carry away everything but the tesserae on the floors. By mid-morning, without a word of apology to his noble guest, the timber merchant had departed for Abone. From there his party would travel to a smaller holding he had selected in the Forest of Dean.

Happy were those servants who were deemed necessary to protect the timber merchant’s person, his family and his possessions, for they would accompany their master during the trek, and were even permitted to take a reasonable amount of their own personal property with them. Almost as fortunate were the workers from his mills who were indispensable to the running of the business enterprises in which the timber merchant had invested his money. While there were still a number of vehicles capable of transporting the tools and machinery that would prove useful once the new businesses began to operate, there was also a great deal of surplus equipment that must be disposed of prior to departure. With one eye over their shoulders and in a panic to begin their journey, the workers ensured it was sold off or abandoned in the shortest possible time.

The ordinary citizens of the town woke to see the wealthy deserters passing through the gates. The rich understood the practical results of warfare, and were fully aware of the punishments that the Saxons meted out to the populations of those towns where they experienced opposition. And while winter is never a good time to flee a town for the bleak countryside, those with money always have somewhere to go. Sorviodunum was the chosen destination for most of the businessmen who had trading ties with the centres of Aquae Sulis, Lindinis and Glevum, so the western gates were the first to be thrust open when the carts began to roll. Even Bran was unable to demand that Calleva stood firm, for since short memories are another trait of wealthy citizens in times of war the town fathers didn’t hesitate to tell him that their predicament was his fault. The same men who had praised Bran for the salvation of their town now damned him, conveniently forgetting that they would already be dead were it not for his intervention.

Meanwhile, the poor too began to desert their homes, with handcarts for their possessions if they were fortunate or taking only what they could carry if they were not. The trickle became a flood by noon, and Bran became seriously concerned by the development. Short of using his army to stop the evacuation through bloodshed, he had no alternative but to watch as the town quickly emptied.

The disappearance of Taliesin and Rhys ap Myrddion was a further blow to the king’s prestige. Like his grandfather before him, he felt their desertion keenly, for his warriors were unable to find the brothers, or so they reported when they explained their failure to hunt them down. Bran had no clear idea whether he would have carried out the threats he had uttered, but they had infuriated him to the point where he could barely speak for rage. Even Ector’s calm reassurance gave him no comfort, for Bran was a realist and there was a pressing need in this time of political disintegration for a calculating mind and an accurate assessment of the diminishing British power base.

Meanwhile, wrapped in old cloaks to disguise their distinctive faces, and with mufflers around their mouths to protect their mouths and chins from the driving sleet, Taliesin and Rhys joined the slowly moving crowd as it passed through the north gate. Their hearts were in their mouths at the proximity of Bran’s guards, who were stalking about the town in a growing fury of impotence. Standing on the wall some distance from the gate, muffled in a dark cloak to hide his own identity, Arthur watched the two brothers break free of the crowd at the gates and trot off on anonymous horses along the crowded road, heading north. Once out of sight of the town, they would leave the road and follow a cross-country route via Cunetio to the Fosse Way and the roads that led to the north-west. With a crow of satisfaction, Arthur watched them go.