M. K. Hume [King Arthur Trilogy 04] The Last Dragon Read online

  Then her grin changed into a grimace as another contraction gripped her. Anna and one of her ladies each held one of her hands and permitted Elayne to grip them so fiercely that her short nails left red crescents in their flesh.

  ‘This . . . is no place . . . for you, my . . . love,’ she panted, and Bedwyr felt as powerless as all men do in the wholly feminine world of pain, blood and childbearing.

  ‘You’ve done nothing to harm the babe, and Lady Anna won’t let anything happen to either of you,’ Bedwyr whispered in a voice that wasn’t quite steady.

  ‘You must leave now,’ Anna ordered crisply, releasing Elayne’s hand as the contraction weakened. Firmly and kindly, she propelled the Master of Arden out of his own room with surprisingly strong hands. ‘Young Arthur was already blaming himself for his mother’s premature labour when I left him, so by now he’ll be quite distraught! He’s with Gwyllan in the bower.’

  ‘Go to him then, beloved,’ Elayne begged, before another contraction made her bite down on her hand until Bedwyr was sure she would draw blood. ‘Make sure that the little ones are safe with their nurse. Kiss them for me.’ She was panting heavily between the birth pangs, and Bedwyr fled.

  Anna was accurate in her assessment of Arthur’s feelings. The boy was pacing along the length of the bower and trying to hold back tears, while Gwyllan was attempting to calm him. Quelling his own doubts, Bedwyr grinned and briefly hugged his son.

  ‘You’re about to have a new brother or sister, so we must explain to the little ones that their mother will be too busy to put them to bed. Could you tell them stories, so that they aren’t afraid before they nod off to sleep? Although your mother is as brave as a lion, women often cry out during childbirth, so you’ll need to think of ways to explain any noises they hear that might frighten them. Can you do that? Good man! I knew I could depend on you.’

  The tumultuous day came to an end, and just before the dawn Elayne was delivered of a sickly, mewling daughter who Anna feared was doomed to die.

  ‘Not she,’ Elayne whispered, for the birth had been accompanied by a great gush of blood that left her weak and deathly pale. ‘She’s strong and vigorous for all that the poor little thing was born so early.’

  Anna’s face said otherwise, so Bedwyr steeled himself to view his new daughter. The tiny babe had no protective layers of fat under her wrinkled skin, which fell in folds over the bone as if she were preternaturally old. Her features resembled those of a wizened old crone, and her skin seemed to be so thin that it was being worn away by the touch of her nurse’s hands. A cap of thick dark hair was the only strong and vigorous part of the little creature’s whole body.

  ‘I’ll find a priest,’ Bedwyr said sadly. ‘Elayne will take comfort if the child is christened.’

  ‘The babe won’t die,’ Elayne insisted from her bed, while her women hastened to make her comfortable. She had heard his words with a mother’s sharp ears. ‘She survived the birth, so I swear she’ll live, Bedwyr. This girl is special, and she deserves a name that will match her potential.’

  Bedwyr kissed his wife and patted her hand to humour her, sure such a sickly child would be lucky to survive the day. ‘I hope you’re right, beloved, but I’ll still send for a priest. Such a precaution can’t hurt, can it?’

  When Elayne nodded absently, Bedwyr kissed her again. He recognised the signs of complete exhaustion, and he pressed Anna to make sure that his wife could sleep without being disturbed before he left the room.

  Anna used wide bands of heavy linen to strap Elayne’s stomach, a remedy that Myrddion Merlinus had favoured to prevent dangerous haemorrhages. For a fleeting moment, she considered strapping Elayne’s breasts as well to halt the flow of milk, but Elayne stopped her with a single burning glance.

  ‘This child will live, Lady Anna, and Arthur will become a great asset to King Bran. When we are close to death, we sometimes see things more clearly than usual, and I have a powerful feeling concerning both my oldest and my youngest child. Unreasonable as it sounds, I know what I know – although you’ll call it wishful thinking.’

  ‘Not I,’ Anna replied seriously. ‘I’m old enough to have discovered that the more we learn and educate ourselves, the more we realise how little we really understand about the world. At any road, it’s bad luck to presume that the child will die, so let’s see if she’ll take to the breast. If she can suckle, she will have a chance of survival.’ She smiled down at Elayne before turning to the midwife. ‘Woman, bring the child to Lady Elayne.’

  The midwife obeyed, and despite her bone-deep weariness Elayne exposed her breast and pushed the little mouth towards her nipple. The child protested and turned her head fretfully away from the close, suffocating pressure of Elayne’s flesh against hers.

  ‘Persist, Elayne. She must suckle to gain strength. Perhaps she’s too immature to be able to feed. Have you arranged a wet nurse?’

  Elayne nodded tiredly. ‘But she needs my milk at the moment, I know. Come, little one, don’t resist your mother. I know what’s best for you.’

  The small battle of wills continued for some time, but at last the little girl parted her lips and Elayne popped her nipple into the toothless, old-woman’s mouth. The child’s unfocused eyes closed for a moment but Elayne stroked the tiny throat encouragingly until, snuffling like a little puppy, the babe discovered she could breathe through her nose. And then a miracle happened in the quiet room. She suckled.

  ‘Ah, that’s it! You’re a good little girl,’ Anna murmured in mingled surprise and satisfaction. ‘She has a chance now,’ she whispered, smiling down at Elayne.

  The babe fed for only a few minutes before she fell asleep on the breast. Elayne had already drifted into slumber, so mother and daughter lay together, resting in the arms of the Mother in perfect trust.

  ‘Stay with them,’ Anna whispered to the midwife, ‘and ensure that Elayne doesn’t smother the infant by mischance. I’ll send for the wet nurse.’ Then she straightened her aching back and left the room, stretching her kinked muscles as she mentally prepared to take over the reins of the household until Elayne was well enough to resume her duties.

  ‘What a night!’ she muttered to the empty hallway. ‘How strange fate is. In the space of a single day, my brother has discovered his true heritage and precipitated the birth of a new half-sister. I have seen many strange things in my life, but I’ve a feeling that this day past will be one to remember. I cannot tell whether good or ill is to be the outcome, but Taliesin would say that God moves all in inexplicable patterns.’

  Anna found her way to Bedwyr’s hall, where the men would soon be breaking their fast amid much jesting and tedious male chatter of coming hunts. As she raised her hand to push open the heavy door with its simple, woven leather latch, one last thought disturbed her so much that her fingers trembled on the carved knob over which the leather cord was secured.

  If the gods are taking such an interest in Arthur and his newly born sister, then the children must be important in the games of power. But are they destined for good or for ill? And how are we poor mortals to discover the answers? Perhaps we will know if the fates allow the infant to live through the months to come.

  Anna flushed with shame then, because these thoughts were unworthy of the daughter of Artor, the last High King. Taking her courage in both hands, she entered the hall to put in train her small part in the child’s survival. A shaft of sunlight burst through the dull late-autumn dawning and lit the room through the opened entry at the far end, dancing down the flagstones to catch Arthur’s hair in a net of gold.

  He’s wearing a crown, Anna thought, and shivered at the portent. Then Arthur grinned boyishly and the spell was broken.

  A new day had begun.

  CHAPTER V

  A VERY STRANGE EDUCATION

  teacher 1. A person, either male or female, who instils into the head of another person either voluntarily or for pay, the sum and substance of his or her ignorance. 2. One who makes two ideas grow where only
one grew before.

  The Roycroft Dictionary, MCMXIV

  Miles from Arden’s green heart, in a fold in the landscape between the fortresses of Ratae and Venonae, but out of sight of each, men were working to create a shelter that would not be obvious from the top of the hills that beetled over them. By their gait, their height and their weaponry, the interlopers were clearly Saxon or Angle.

  Rather than the normal Saxon dwellings with their distinctive triangular appearance and steep roofs that almost reached the ground, the warriors were raising simple structures of soft wood made weather-tight by a simple rush covering laid over supporting branches. This rudimentary thatching, under the canopy of taller trees, made the impromptu village invisible from higher ground and minimised the chances of discovery by Celtic patrols.

  Deep in the Celtic heartland, this tentative advance party would soon turn into a flood of infiltrators if their presence remained unnoticed. The Saxons had been ordered here by their thane, a wily old campaigner called Thorkeld Snakekiller, to prod at the Cornovii settlements in search of weaknesses. If they returned alive, then the way lay clear to the broad acres of the Cornovii and Ordovice tribes. If they were killed, then Thorkeld would be forced to search for another route. Grey of hair and eye, he was determined to find a way round the Celtic defences now that the fearsome Dragon King had finally made the journey into the shadows.

  ‘This is our time. This land will be ours, sooner or later,’ Thorkeld told the advance party. ‘Know that our harpists will celebrate your courage when we build our hall where the fortress of Ratae now stands. Your route to the gods will be as straight as a true sword if they require you to sacrifice your lives, and you will banquet with the heroes for eternity. Go now, with Woden in your hearts.’

  So the half-naked Saxon warriors worked in the autumnal sun and their pale skins reddened as the huts rose swiftly. Once their shelters had been built, they lit small cookfires within their closed and stuffy quarters, trusting that the encroaching darkness would cover the evidence that they waited within sight of the Celtic defences. In every warrior’s heart, Thorkeld’s message was repeated like the sonorous beat of a drum.

  This is our time. This land will be ours.

  When he had a clear understanding of what was needed in a crisis, few men in all the isles of Britain, whether Celt or Saxon, were as efficient or as single minded as Bedwyr, the Master of Arden. Caught up in the domestic drama, Gawayne gave permission for four of his best warriors to scour the cities and hamlets around Arden Forest in search of a priest who would consent to visit Arden, and Ector volunteered to ride to Glevum to recruit a suitable arms master for Arthur. The new birth had already determined that the visitors would be spending a few weeks longer in Arden than they had originally intended. Anna would not budge until the babe and her mother were out of danger.

  ‘I don’t begrudge the time,’ Bran told her, and she could tell by his eyes that he was telling the truth. Amused, she understood his motives immediately.

  ‘Of course not, my son. You will have the opportunity to assess Arthur’s teachers and help to shape the direction of his education. What better way to ensure that he will remain loyal to your interests? Gawayne lingers here for similar reasons, although his lands are far away. Of us all, only Ector and Arthur are completely free of guile.’

  Bran shook his head sardonically. ‘Arthur is too young to be sly, but he’s already asked me to tell him all my memories of King Artor, both the good and the bad. Such a balanced curiosity speaks well of the boy’s promise, but it’s also a warning that Arthur will be a very careful man. He will be difficult to fool as he ages.’

  ‘He has made the same request of Gawayne and me. I know that Ector has already described the battle of Camlann as he remembers it. Bedwyr will need to think quickly when his son starts asking some of the more difficult questions.’

  Bran grimaced. ‘Do I reveal everything to him, Mother? Gallia, Livinia, and even Caius? Everything? He’ll form a very odd opinion of his family if I do.’

  ‘Honesty really is the best answer to questions from your uncle. And don’t look so disapprovingly at me – he is your uncle,’ she retorted crisply. ‘You might be forty, but the relationship is real even if it’s embarrassing to you. I’ll handle the details of the Villa Poppinidii. If you can explain to Arthur what Balyn and Balan were like as young men and tell him what you remember of the High King’s character, I think that would be all that’s needed from you at this stage. We can flesh out the finer details later in his education.’ She tapped her son on the nose with a confidence that Bran found intensely irritating. ‘Don’t allow your bad temper to show with the boy, Bran. It is one thing to be impatient with your mother, but Arthur is his father again, with something of Lady Elayne’s balance to leaven the streak of instability that we knew so well. Whatever faults the boy is going to develop will be interesting to watch . . . but that’s in the future, and I don’t wish to stay here for months to evaluate them. You should be happy that the boy knows who he is, and we have already persuaded him to bond tightly with his larger family.’

  Something feral appeared in Bran’s face that was quite different from the calm, placid personality that was usually on show. ‘All the same, I’d still sleep easier if he didn’t exist.’

  Anna was horrified. ‘Shut away such thoughts, Bran. I’m not jesting. I’m sickened that you could even consider such a thing.’

  Her hands had risen to the cowled neck of her simple homespun robe. Any stranger would believe her to be a house servant at first glance, but her face held authority and her eyes were like chips of hazel ice, glittering and stark. Bran stepped towards her hesitantly, regretting his ill-judged, improper comment.

  ‘I didn’t say I want him dead, I just wish he’d never been born. You know what I mean, Mother. I’m insulted that you’d even imagine I’d ever harm a kinsman.’

  ‘I hope you’re speaking honestly.’ Anna’s hard stare would curdle milk. ‘Are you jealous of the boy, Bran? I could understand if you were. He’s very like his father in many ways, but his life has been much happier than Artor’s so far, and I have come to believe he will grow to be a productive, contented man.’

  ‘Why should I be jealous of a bastard of seven? Now you’re being ridiculous, Mother.’

  ‘Maybe so.’ She examined her son’s face closely, until he was forced to turn away from her shrewd, troubled scrutiny. ‘I love you, Bran, as the last of my strong sons, and as my king. I have always respected you as well, so I’d be devastated to discover that some of the taint of Uther Pendragon or Modred hid in your nature.’

  Bran swore, but Anna cut him off by gripping his forearm tightly. ‘They were your kin, as you well know. They are a part of your bloodline, so don’t be so superior, boy, and don’t even think about Arthur’s death. The family would tear itself apart if anything were to happen to him. Ector would be heartbroken . . . and Bedwyr? Well, I’d rather not consider what the loss of Arden would mean to the remnants of the west. The Saxons would arrive on our doorstep in hordes without Arden protecting our flanks.’

  ‘All this . . . this nagging because of a slip of the tongue, Mother. I’d never harm the boy, but life would be far more straightforward if he weren’t here.’

  ‘Yes, life can be very messy, Bran, especially family connections tied to power and inheritance.’ Anna’s voice was dry and suggested a hint of sardonic humour. ‘We’ll leave the conversation as it stands, my son. I’ve said what needs to be laid out for you, and the rest I’ll leave to your own common sense. Ector is old enough to find a proficient arms master for Arthur’s training, so trust his cool-headed intelligence and I will trust to yours.’

  Her smile was conciliatory, but Anna was concerned at Bran’s attitude to his newly found uncle. Unsettled by the conversation, she was unprepared for the sight of Gwyllan sitting disconsolately on a stool outside Bedwyr’s apartments. When the girl saw Anna approaching, she leapt to her feet and waited for the older woman to reach
her, while her hands twisted and tore at the overlong sleeves of her finely woven woad-blue robe.

  Anna sighed inwardly. More problems. ‘What can I do for you, Gwyllan? I can tell you’re waiting for me, but come with me and we’ll see Elayne and her new baby first. We’ll find somewhere quiet where we can talk after I’ve made sure that mother and child are comfortable. Is that acceptable?’

  Gwyllan ducked her head so that her long plaits fell forward to conceal her face, but she nodded and swallowed convulsively.

  ‘This visit should be propitious, Gwyllan. As you’re like to be a mother yourself in the next year or so, this experience will be instructive for you. Elayne has excellent mothering skills, which will assist her babe to survive. Watch and learn from her, for it will help you when your own time comes.’ Anna smiled so sweetly and with such obvious pleasure at the thought of Gwyllan’s future children that the girl dropped her eyes to the points of her embroidered slippers.

  Gulping audibly, she followed the older woman into the room, which had been tidied and scented with fresh flowers that seemed to bloom on every flat surface. In clay pots, tin pans and even a goblet of rare Roman glass, late wild flowers of all types and sprays of greenery added splashes of vivid colour to the room. Daisies sprouted everywhere, raising their cheerful faces and yellow centres in posies of other blooms, even small, shy orchids collected from the deepest parts of the forest where they flowered secretly, high in the forks of tree branches.

  Elayne was propped up on a mound of woollen pillows and appeared to be considerably better after a day of complete rest. She had been bathed, and her hair had been brushed and combed until the red-gold tresses glowed and then replaited into a thick coronet around her head. Only the deep purple shadows round her eyes spoke mutely of her recent ordeal.

  ‘Arthur brought them. All of them! He is stripping every field and tree of flowers to brighten my day. I tell him there are only buckets left to put the flowers in, and the horses might object if they have no water, but . . . well, you can see what he does.’