King Arthur - 02 - The Revenge Of King Arthur's Brood
Lee Edgar


PROLOGUE


     The rider approached the city as the sun began to set over the High Tor. People murmured in curiosity as he entered the high gateway and rode into the central courtyard. He paused for a moment before dismounting from his white stallion. Children ceased to play in the dust and watched as he slowly raised the visor of his helmet and squinted into the setting sun as his long sword hung from a broad leather belt around black armour which covered his body from head to foot. The only marking he bore was a great silver cross embossed upon his polished black shield. 
     A few years ago, the arrival of such a knight would have gone unnoticed in Camelot–knights came and went all the time. Now, since peace had come, this tall knight looked a little out of place as he strode towards the doorway leading to the Great Hall. The room was dark after the brightness of the sun and he paused momentarily for his eyes to become accustomed to the poor light before resuming his stride towards the head of the hall where a giant of a man sat on the high-backed throne. 
     His heart quickened with apprehension as he viewed the long, fair hair and immense shoulders and arms before him. Surely the Britons had not installed an Anglisc as King in Camelot? The queen beside him was not a young woman but still was very striking in her middle-age, with dark hair and the typical Celtic features of one whom he would have expected to succeed King Arthur to the throne. 
     Ten feet before the throne, he stopped, observed the group of knights along the aisle and then slowly removed his black helmet. Some in the crowd gasped at the young, handsome face he revealed as he drew his long sword and laid it at the base of the throne as a sign of submission. 
     ‘Welcome to Camelot,’ greeted the giant seated upon the throne. ‘I am Gann of Horsa and my companion is the Lady Moryna.’ 
     ‘My Lord, I come in peace,’ said the young knight with head bowed. ‘I am Galahad of Gaul.’ 
     A further murmur ran around the room and several of the knights began to confer together. 
     ‘And what brings you to Camelot, my son?’ asked Gann. 
     ‘I wish to serve at the round table as did my father.’ 
     ‘Your father?’ 
     ‘Sir Lancelot du Lac.’ 
     A gasp went up which turned to a long silence until someone shouted: ‘Traitor!’ 
     The young man continued to kneel in silence as the jeers increased. 
     ‘His father desecrated the throne,’ explained Moryna quietly to Gann. ‘He abused his position as First Knight by committing adultery with Queen Gwynvir. Many called for his execution but Arthur, because Lancelot had served him well, had him banished to Gaul instead.’’ 
     Gann looked down at the young man. ‘Do you have anything to say, Galahad?’ 
     ‘I do not seek to justify anything my father did. However, before he died, he came to be with the Christ and the seriousness of his grave sin to your people became clear to him. If he had lived, he would have come here himself to beg forgiveness and mercy but, unfortunately, he was too ill and died during the winter. His last wish was that I come here in his place and put myself at your mercy.’ 
     ‘He should be killed,’ shouted Sir Brian. ‘His father brought great shame to the house of King Arthur.’ 
     ‘Have him beheaded,’ snided Sir Dinaden, ‘As an example to all future generations that the King’s wife is sacred and should not be dishonoured as Gwynvir was.’ 
     Gann looked at the young man for some time before speaking. ‘What say you, Sir Galahad? Did you come here to die?’ 
     ‘Sire,’ he said. ‘I came to offer restitution. If this is best served by my death, I willingly offer my life to make amends for my father. What he did was unquestionably wrong, he knew that at the end. I place myself at the mercy of your good self, to do with me as you wish.’ 
     Gann pondered for a moment. ‘Please wait outside,’ he said eventually. Then, raising his voice, ‘All of you, except my knights and chief druid. I wish to confer with my advisors.’ 
     The room gradually cleared until a dozen men remained with Gann and his woman. ‘Well, my brothers?’ 
     ‘He should die, without fail,’ said Sir Tristram severely. 
     ‘He deserves nothing less,’ agreed Sir Brian. 
     ‘Are you not all being a little harsh?’ interrupted the First Lady. ‘He is but a boy and was not even born when his father profaned Queen Gwynvir. He cannot be held accountable for his dead father’s actions.’ 
     ‘He must be executed as an example,’ insisted Sir Dinaden. ‘With respect, Moryna, you were still a young girl when Lancelot defiled the throne.’ 
     ‘You are right, Sir Dinaden,’ she agreed. ‘It was, indeed, a very long time ago and all the more reason to let the matter die now. It was almost twenty-seven years ago and both King Arthur and Gwynvir are now long dead and gone. I see no reason at all to take pointless vengeance now.’ 
     ‘We cannot simply forget the matter,’ offered Sir Brian. ‘It brought a great shame on all the household of the King.’ 
     ‘Perhaps,’ interjected the wise Gann. ‘Perhaps it is our Queen who should decide. It is she who now represents her father’s interests. If the Queen says that he is to be punished, then so be it.’ 
     ‘Our Queen is much too forgiving,’ snided Sir Hew. 
     ‘Not where her father’s memory is concerned,’ reminded Sir Dinaden. ‘Have you already forgotten the great curse she placed upon Camelot for those four, long years? And the suffering and death it caused us during that time?’ He shivered at the memory. ‘No, my young friend. When the Queen is angry, the consequences are very great as we found to our detriment.’ 
     The older knight looked at the others. ‘I believe that Lord Gann’s solution is a good one. The Queen must be the one to decide.’ 
     ‘But the Queen is not here. How can she decide?’ 
     ‘Galahad must go to her and plead his case.’ 
     ‘That is much too easy.’ 
     ‘My Lord Knights,’ interrupted the old druid with the long, white hair. ‘May I make a suggestion?’ 
     ‘Of course,’ agreed Gann. 
     ‘I recommend that we offer the young man a riddle. If he is able to solve it and find our Queen, he is to be forgiven. If not, he is to be outlawed - executed if subsequently captured.’ 
     They looked at each other and nodded. After conferring and, finally, agreeing, the young knight was recalled to the Great Hall. 
     ‘My son,’ Gann spoke to the knight before him. ‘We have decided to send you to another for judgement. We offer you a riddle.’ 
     His eyes lit up for a moment but then he frowned. ‘A riddle, Sire?’ 
     ‘A quest. If you can solve the riddle, not only will your life be spared but you will become a full Knight of the Round Table.’ 
     Sir Galahad leant forward, still on one knee as his heart beat faster. ‘A quest for the Holy Grail?’ 
     Gann’s face cracked in a smile. ‘Similar. But, in some ways, one a little more difficult.’ 
     He nodded to the druid who began to read aloud from a sheet of rough paper.
Where the waters are crossed by the old wild boar 
That is where you must cross o’er. 
Seek the place where the blue meets brown, 
At the strongest place in town. 
Then climb upon a big white horse, 
and a day on the long bar must be your course. 
Where Constantine did Dagon tease, 
That is where you must bend your knees. 
And you will only know you’ve won, 
When you cut off a piece of the golden sun.
     Sir Galahad, totally perplexed, took the paper from the druid’s outstretched hand and looked down at the meaningless words. ‘But I don’t know what I am looking for.’ 
     Gann smiled. ‘When you decipher the first part of the riddle and begin the quest, you will know it.’ 
     He suddenly became very serious. ‘However, remember this, Galahad. If you are able to complete the quest successfully, you will either become the happiest man on Earth or...’ He paused. ‘Or you will learn what a terrible experience it is to suffer the revenge of King Arthur’s Brood.’ 

ONE


     Ædra smiled at Karl as they approached the city in the bright sunshine. They had been away only for a year, but were glad to be back. Camelot could manage without her for a while now that her Uncle Gann had been installed as regent in her place. Something inside her had told her to stay, but she knew, in her heart, that there was too much work to do elsewhere for her to settle down to the comfort and position which had been granted her. 
     Ebor looked bigger somehow as they approached from the south, the wide river curving forward in front of them. A shanty town of huts and stone barns had sprung up along the banks of the Eause and she waved to the people as the oarsmen rowed hard against the flow of water which poured from the distant Epines. Tremors of excitement ran through her body as she thought ahead to the meeting with her twin brother, Ædred, and his wife, Carra. She would spend the Autumn and Winter with them before returning to her simple home at Iarum. 
     Their boat neared the small jetty and a group of people waited for them. She recognised Karl’s wife, Inga, and their young son, Conrad. Carra was there with her children, Ælle and Tania, but of her brother, there was no sign. The dark-haired Carra smiled as Ædra waved and tossed her long, golden hair which perfectly reflected the glow of the sun. 
     ‘Welcome to Ebor, your Highness,’ greeted the city’s Chief Druid as the boat drew to a standstill and men lashed it securely to the stone jetty. He held out his hand and Ædra smiled at took hold of it while she stepped ashore. 
     ‘Thank you, my Lord Khana,’ she responded to the man whom her brother had placed in charge of all matters relating to British customs and affairs. ‘I am very glad to be back. Is my brother unwell?’ 
     ‘He is fine, Highness,’ he replied respectfully. ‘He has been called away urgently to establish a new Thegn in Eborwick.’ 
     ‘Eborwick?’ she queried. 
     ‘Forgive me, you will not be aware of developments. Eborwick is what the new Anglisc areas have been called around the city. The Anglekeln have grouped themselves by tribe at Poppleton, Acomb and Heslington, to farm the lands of the valley. Although they have integrated well, it is right that they have their own representative at court to your brother, the king, as we Britons have in myself.’ 
     She smiled. ‘That seems fair to me.’ 
     ‘May I have the honour of escorting you to the castle, my Lady?’ 
     Ædra put her head on one side and smiled at the unusual degree of hospitality being afforded her by the Druid. ‘I would be delighted, my Lord Khana.’ She looked across at Carra. ‘I will greet my friend, the queen, first?’ 
     He bowed. ‘I am at your service, Highness.’ 
     Ædra stepped towards the back of the jetty as Carra got down from her carriage and held her tightly for a moment. 
     ‘And how is my very best friend?’ Carra greeted. 
     Ædra opened her eyes slowly as the sharp twinge of pain in her back reminded her of the murderous attempt on her life at Cantibrough the previous year and she steadied herself against her sister-in-law for a moment and hid the effect with a smile which did not reach to her deep, blue eyes. The shrewd Carra missed nothing and gripped her arms firmly. ‘What is it, Ædra? What is wrong?’ 
     ‘It’s nothing,’ lied Ædra. ‘Just a little stiffness from being at sea for so long.’ 
     Carra glanced towards the middle-aged man who had captained the boat on its long journey from Camelot but Karl was busy ensuring that the boat was firmly tied up to the big stone bollard. She did not press the point and Ædra smiled as she greeted the two-year-old Ælle who was too young to have remembered the long hours he had spent in her arms as a baby. Tania the toddler had been but a tiny baby when Ædra had departed for Camelot to reverse the curse applied after she had so narrowly escaped being sacrificed on the Great Tor. She smiled for a moment as the memory of her twin brother riding up on his white stallion, Excalibur in his hand, flashed through her mind. One day, she guessed, girls all over the kingdom will dream of being rescued from death in so cavalier a manner. 
     ‘Hello, Inga,’ Ædra called to Karl’s wife who was waiting patiently for her husband to finish dismissing the sailors. 
     Inga curtsied low. ‘Welcome home, Princess Ædra,’ she replied. ‘Thank you for bringing my husband home safely.’ 
     ‘It is me who should be thanking you for letting him go with me. He has looked after me very well.’ 
     ‘I’m glad, Highness.’ 
     ‘Inga,’ Ædra whispered in her ear. ‘If you call me that once more, I will have you thrown in the river. I may be the daughter of King Arthur but I have no official position here in Ebor. I am a simple Christian missionary who wants to be an equal among her people.’ 
     Inga laughed. ‘Simple is something that you could never be, Ædra. You have helped too many to be forgotten so quickly.’ 
     ‘I have only done what any other Christian should have done.’ 
     ‘Tell that to the people whom you have cured of the plague, the ones who are happy now because of all your hard work.’ 
     ‘But...’ 
     ‘Forgive my outspokenness, Ædra, but if you are trying to achieve anonymity here, you are wasting your time.’ 
     ‘Inga, thank you. You are exaggerating, I am sure. But it has made me happy to hear you say it.’ 
     ‘It is true, Highness.’ 
     Ædra glanced at the river and Inga put her hand to her mouth and they both laughed aloud. Ædra turned and saw the druid patiently waiting to escort her safely to the castle. 
     ‘Forgive me, My Lord Khana,’ she said. ‘I must hold you up no longer.’ She turned. ‘Inga, I will come and see you both before I return to Iarum.’

     Aedra retired early to bed but Carra waited for her husband to return from Eborwick. It was dark before the King arrived and dismissed the servants. 
     ‘Is Ædra in bed?’ he asked. 
     ‘Yes, my love. She is very tired.’ 
     ‘Is she well?’ he asked, suddenly afraid of what the answer might be. 
     ‘She says she is,’ replied Queen Carra. 
     ‘You doubt it?’ 
     ‘Her smile did not reach her eyes. There is something wrong with her.’ 
     ‘Is it the pain?’ 
     ‘I don’t know. She winced when I embraced her at the waterfront. She said it was cramp, but I don’t believe her.’ 
     ‘I feel her pain,’ he said, his blue eyes half closed. 
     ‘You said that you felt it last year but I didn’t believe you. How can you feel her pain?’ 
     ‘Carra, we are twins. We are also the brood of King Arthur. We feel of each other at times.’ 
     ‘So you said at the time, but I’m not sure how.’ 
     ‘Nor am I,’ he said, holding his wife tightly in his arms. ‘I just know that I can instinctively know when she is well and when she is not. As she was being offered in sacrifice on the Tor above Camelot, I felt her pain and I was right, even though we had never met up till then. I felt the same pain last year.’ 
     ‘What kind of pain was it?’ 
     ‘A violent pain, deep inside my body. A pain which seemed to tear my loins apart.’ 
     ‘Do you feel it now?’ 
     ‘I do,’ he said. ‘Now that she is here, I feel it very strongly.’ 
     Carra pulled free and pondered. ‘We must try to help her.’ 
     ‘How can we do that if she will not admit to it?’ 
     Carra turned with a sly smiled and touched the side of her nose. She winked one of her big, brown eyes mischievously. ‘I have a plan.’


     Aedra lay in bed with perspiration pouring from her as she writhed in the agony that she had suffered every day for a year. She tried to get up but fell and let out a long moan as she lay, panting, on the cold stone floor. 
     It was several minutes before she could raise the necessary courage to sit up then, unsteadily, get to her feet. For a moment, the room spun as she held on tightly to the pillar until the dizzy feeling passed. By the time the maid arrived to help her to dress, her decorum had returned enough to see her brother and discuss progress.


     Carra gotup early and, in a long cape which disguised her sufficiently, she made her way down to the dockside. Following the instructions given to her by Ædred, she soon found the little boatyard and knocked on the door of Karl’s cottage. Inga opened it and stared, wide-eyed, as Carra pulled the hood from her face. 
     ‘Queen Carra...’ she started. 
     ‘Good morning, Inga,’ Carra greeted. ‘May I come in?’ 
     ‘Of course, of course. Please excuse the mess. I was not expecting royalty today.’ 
     ‘Forgive me, Inga. I would not have come like this unless it was very important. Is Karl at home?’ 
     ‘Yes, Your Majesty. If you will wait, I will fetch him.’ 
     ‘Is this your son that I have heard so much about?’ Carra asked, touching the head of a small boy in a chair, eating breakfast. 
     ‘Yes, Highness,’ Inga replied from the doorway. ‘It is our son, Conrad. A present from the Princess.’ 
     Carra swallowed. ‘Present...?’ 
     ‘Did you not know? When your husband and the Princess first came to Ebor, they stayed with us. They were but children and hundreds of miles from home with winter approaching. They stayed with us until spring and, when they left, Ædra promised me a son.’ 
     ‘A son?’ 
     ‘I did not believe her, of course, as I was beyond the age for childbearing.’ 
     ‘What happened?’ asked Carra, suddenly very interested. 
     ‘A month later, I suspected that I was pregnant. Two months later, I was sure. I’m convinced it was a miracle.’ 
     ‘Yes,’ pondered Carra as things that Ædred had told her about his sister began to fall into place. Karl arrived in a few moments, wiping his hands on a cloth to remove the sealant he used to waterproof the boats. 
     ‘Your Majesty,’ he greeted, bowing low. ‘It is a great honour for you to visit my humble abode.’ 
     ‘Karl. I came to thank you.’ 
     ‘To thank me?’ 
     She nodded. ‘For looking after Ædra so well. I know that the King is also extremely grateful and will wish to thank you in his own way.’ 
     ‘Queen Carra, I did not help the Princess for praise. I did it because we love her very dearly. She has done so much for the city.’ 
     Carra sat down on the edge of the chair Inga offered. ‘I hear that all went well in Camelot.’ 
     ‘Yes, Highness. The Princess was welcomed with open arms.’ 
     ‘Tell me about it.’ 
     ‘Well, we arrived in the afternoon and the people came down with the Knights and greeted her. The Knights laid their swords at her feet as a sign of submission and we were all made very welcome.’ 
     ‘And the curse?’ 
     ‘Curse?’ 
     ‘Were there children born in Camelot?’ 
     ‘Several before we left, Highness.’ 
     Her large brown eyes looked straight at Karl. ‘Then how did she get hurt?’ 
     ‘H..hurt?’ He swallowed noticeably and Inga gripped the back of the chair until her knuckles were white. 
     ‘Yes, Karl. Hurt. She was hurt, wasn’t she?’ 
     It was some time before he spoke. ‘I promised not to tell. She made me promise.’ 
     ‘Karl.’ Carra took his hand in hers and he became deeply embarrassed. ‘Ædra is not just your friend, she is mine, too. I am not going to put you in an impossible position of split loyalties by insisting at royal command that you tell me. I have come to plead as a friend. I know that Ædra needs help and, before I can do anything, I need to know what happened.’ 
     Karl looked at the ground. ‘I promised.’ 
     ‘Karl, one thing I do know is that if we do not help her soon, she will die. I know that you would not want that to happen, so please tell me all that you can.’ 
     He toyed with his conscience for a long time. It was Inga who spoke first. ‘Tell her, Karl.’ 
     ‘It was in Cant,’ he said eventually. 
     ‘What happened in Cant?’ 
     ‘I don’t know all the details, Your Majesty. I only know what Gann told me afterwards.’ He paused. ‘We were driven into Rochecæstra by a storm and Ædra went ashore to preach to the people in the city. On the second day, she vanished. We searched everywhere but she had gone from the city. Several days later, Gann was called to collect her from a hospice. I went with him, of course, and we found her in bed.’ 
     ‘Go on,’ prompted Carra. 
     ‘She looked terrible. At first, I thought her dead, she was so pale.’ 
     ‘Was it the fever? The plague?’ 
     ‘No. I overheard a few words the healer spoke to Gann. She spoke of internal injuries. She said... she said...’ 
     He broke down at that point and Carra kneeled before him and held both his hands in hers. She did not speak but looked imploringly into his tear-filled eyes. ‘The healer said that the Princess would never be able to bear children.’ 
     The atmosphere could have been cut with a dagger as Carra stared at Karl and Inga began to sob softly. 
     ‘Who did it?’ Carra forced herself to ask through clenched teeth. ‘Was it the Cantii?’ 
     ‘I don’t think so. I never did find out and neither did Gann. He is her uncle and, if he had known, he would have killed them all, I’m sure. No, the healer just gave Gann the sword and Ædra’s Book. Oh, and a letter.’ 
     Carra frowned. ‘A letter?’ 
     He nodded. ‘On very important paper. Ædra would let no-one read it and clung to it as if it meant her very life.’ 
     ‘Do you know how badly she was hurt?’ 
     ‘Not until we arrived at Camelot. She had spent the voyage resting in the bottom of the boat. It was when she arrived and went ashore that we saw the blood.’ 
     Inga was horrified. ‘The blood?’ 
     Karl nodded. ‘All over the back of her dress. The exertion of walking caused her to bleed heavily and she was in bed for many months after we arrived. Gann and Moryna were very worried about her.’ 
     ‘Moryna?’ 
     ‘The midwife who had looked after Ædra when she was young. She married Gann and they had a daughter just before we departed.’ 
     Carra smiled. ‘So that’s why Gann didn’t return.’ 
     ‘Ædra asked him to stay.’ 
     ‘Why?’ 
     He shook his head. ‘I don’t know. Something about his being “King in her place” was all she would say.’ 
     ‘Is there anything more you can tell me?’ 
     ‘Only that whatever it was which had caused her pain has also made her very happy.’ 
     Carra frowned. ‘I don’t understand.’ 
     ‘Neither do I, your Majesty.’ 
     ‘Karl,’ said Carra, standing. ‘I want to thank you. By what you have told me, you may just have saved Ædra’s life.’


     Aedred paced up and down while Carra sat in the big chair. ‘She will tell me nothing.’ 
     ‘What will you do?’ 
     ‘I will force it out of her. She must tell me.’ 
     ‘That is not the way, my dearest. We must be careful lest we cause her more pain.’ 
     ‘Pain? Hasn’t she suffered enough? Carra, I swear to you, if she was raped by those people, I will raise an army and kill them all.’ 
     ‘You don’t know that’s what happened.’ 
     ‘Internal injuries, Karl said. Can’t have children. Blood everywhere on her dress. What else must I believe? She must tell me.’ 
     ‘No, Ædred.’ 
     ‘No?’ 
     ‘Ædred.’ She rose and put her arms around him. ‘If I had been raped, I would feel a great shame over it. Perhaps she feels the same.’ 
     ‘Then how can we find out?’ 
     ‘We must examine her.’ 
     He pulled away from her. ‘Are you out of your mind? If she feels that bad about it, is she going to lay down while someone pokes around inside her to find out?’ 
     ‘Of course not. We must be more subtle in our approach. We must examine her while she is sleeping.’ 
     ‘She will wake up.’ 
     Carra smiled. ‘Not after what I put in her drink tonight.’ 
     He whirled round. ‘You did what?’ 
     ‘I went to see the druid and he gave me a potion which will make her sleep soundly. She will not know.’ 
     He turned away. ‘I can’t do it.’ 
     ‘I’m not expecting you to. I will find out for you.’ 
     ‘It is too risky. What if she wakes up? She will be furious.’ 
     ‘She will not wake up.’ 
     ‘I don’t know...’ 
     ‘Come dearest.’ She reached out her hand to him. ‘It is time we knew the truth.’ 
     Silently, the two of them made their way to Ædra’s room and looked at her still form as she lay in the moonlight shining in a long beam from the window. 
     ‘You look for the letter Karl mentioned,’ said Carra. ‘I will find out what is wrong with her.’ 
     Ædred began to look through his sister’s things while Carra carefully pulled down the bedclothes. She swallowed as she looked at Ædra’s body, perfect in the moonlight. She was no longer the child Carra had met at Iarum and now had the shape of an eligible young woman. Her eighteen-year-old form lay still as Carra gently drew her fingers across it and found not a mark anywhere. 
     Her heart was in her mouth as she examined her closely and then breathed a long sigh as Ædred looked round sharply. Carra shook her head. ‘She has not been raped.’ 
     ‘Are you sure?’ 
     ‘Ædred, believe me. Your sister is still a virgin.’ 
     ‘Definitely?’ 
     ‘I am a married woman, my dear husband. I have had your two children and am now expecting your third. I think that I know a little about these things.’ 
     ‘That’s a relief.’ 
     ‘I, too, feel relief. Rape is a terrible mental as well as physical pain.’ 
     ‘Have you found anything else?’ 
     ‘There does not seem to be a mark on her.’ 
     Ædred looked down at his sister and felt the pain again inside him. 
     ‘Turn her over,’ he said. ‘Let’s look at her back.’ 
     Together, they carefully turned her onto her front and Carra screamed and dropped the candle. There was some confusion until they got it relit and Carra sat in the corner, shaking and sobbing, while Ædred looked at the terrible scar on her back. It started just below her waist and ran for three inches down the right hand side of her spine and was red and angry where inflammation had set in.
     ‘What did that?’ Carra sobbed. ‘Who would inflict such a terrible wound on a young girl?’ 
     ‘I don’t know, Carra. It looks to me as though a sword or a dagger has been thrust into her from behind and then twisted, repeatedly, to give the maximum pain and inflict the most internal damage. No wonder the healer told Gann she would not bear children. I’m surprised she has survived at all.’ 
     ‘Oh, Ædred. What can we do? Poor, poor Ædra.’ 
     ‘I must cure her.’ 
     ‘Cure her?’ Carra’s eyes were wide open with fear. ‘Wh..what do you mean?’ 
     ‘I must make her well, stop the pain.’ 
     ‘How can you do that?’ she asked suspiciously. 
     ‘I did it before.’ 
     Carra got slowly to her feet. ‘Then it wasn’t a trick at Reedcarr? You really did mend her broken bones after she had been washed up onto the rocks?’ 
     He looked down. ‘Yes, I did. But I did it with Ædra’s assistance. This time I do not have her help.’ 
     ‘Then it will not work?’ 
     ‘Probably not, but I have to try. Pray for me, Carra.’ 
     Ædred bent over his sister’s prone form and gently ran his fingers over that dreadful scar and across the smooth skin of her back. As he looked down at her, he was reminded of the time when he had beaten her when she was thirteen and she had thanked him afterwards despite not being able to sit down for some time. A lump came to his throat at the memory and a tear dripped onto her bare bottom. 
     He worked until he was exhausted but there was nothing more he could do for his sister. 
     ‘It isn’t working,’ he cried in frustration. ‘I can’t get rid of that scar. I’ve failed and my dear Ædra is going to die.’ 

TWO


     The two of them sat in silence for a long time until Carra gently pulled up the sheet over Ædra’s waist to cover that hideous scar on her back. 
     ‘Do you still feel her pain?’ she asked. 
     ‘No. But then, Ædra probably doesn’t while she is asleep.’ 
     ‘Did you find the letter?’ 
     ‘Not yet.’ 
     ‘Where did you look?’ asked Carra, standing. 
     ‘Just among her things generally.’ 
     ‘Did you look inside her Book?’ 
     ‘No.’ 
     Carra reached over and lifted the cover of Ædra’s big Bible. Out of it fell the letter. Opening it carefully, she looked at it. 
     ‘It’s in Latin,’ she said. ‘I can’t read it.’ 
     ‘Let me have a look, I’ve picked up a few words since I’ve been here.’ He read what he could. ‘It’s to Ædra from Cardinal Broghanzani.’ 
     ‘Who’s he?’ 
     ‘The churchman I threw out of Ebor two years ago for trying to bribe Ædra to water down her teachings.’ 
     Carra was horrified. ‘He tried that?’ 
     ‘Actually, it wasn’t so much the Cardinal as the Bishop he had with him–a disgusting little man who tried to get me to have Ædra killed by his lies.’ 
     ‘Good heavens.’ 
     ‘I cannot read all of the letter but it seems like an apology of sorts and a comment about the Bishop being dead. The last sentence tells her to look in the front of the Book.’ 
     He got up and carried the Bible to the bed and opened it. On the first page was the inscription from brother John, the preacher who had brought Ædra the truth about God but who died of the plague. Underneath was a Latin inscription in the Cardinals flowing handwriting.
“By order and Sanctification of the Church of Christ. Gloria in Excelcis to God and Sainte Ædra.”
     ‘Saint Ædra?’ Carra whispered. 
     ‘That’s what it says,’ replied Ædred. He frowned. ‘Why didn’t she say something?’ 
     ‘You know your sister, my love. Always the modest one. She never did like titles and things. She is happier sitting with the children in the marketplace at Iarum than attending Court.’ 
     ‘What’s on the other page?’ 
     Carra moved the candle. ‘Where?’ 
     ‘Written down the flyleaf. It looks like a list of names.’ 
     Carra examined the leaf and her mouth fell open. She was speechless. 
     ‘Carra. What is it?’ 
     ‘It...it...it’s a list of affirmations and pledges of allegiance.’ 
     ‘To whom?’ 
     ‘To Ædra.’ 
     ‘Let me see.’ The King looked down the list which started with “Gann of Camelot”, through all the knights of the round table, to “Igor of Brycgstow”. ‘There must be a hundred names here.’ 
     ‘What are they pledging?’ asked Carra. 
     He looked down to the bottom of the page. ‘Their lands, their valuables, their armies and...’ He looked at his Queen. ‘Their lives.’ 
     ‘Their lives? To Ædra? As Saint?’ 
     ‘No, my love,’ he replied quietly. ‘Look at what it says at the bottom.’ 
     ‘We the aforementioned,’ she read slowly. ‘Do pledge all that we have in the service of our rightful ruler, daughter of King Arthur and Princess Rowena, Princess Ædra of Camelot, Queen of Northumbria, Westseax and all Britannia.’ 
     There was silence for a long time as the candle flickered between them. Ædred kissed his sister gently on the bare back and slowly stood up. He went to the doorway and soon returned with quill and ink. Carefully, he added his own name to the long list. 
     Carra smiled. ‘I will stay with her tonight,’ she said and Ædred nodded with understanding.

     Queen Carra of Ebor as the sun shone long shafts of light through the castle window. For a moment, she did not remember where she was until she opened her brown eyes, stared at the ceiling and remembered. She smiled and turned to face her friend and found two piercing blue eyes just inches from her face. 
     The lips below them smiled and so did the eyes themselves as a lump came to Carra’s throat. Did she know? 
     ‘Thank you,’ said Ædra simply and Carra was certain. 
     ‘For what?’ She tried to sound innocent but it didn’t work. 
     Ædra’s long arm came across Carra’s bare shoulders and pulled her closer. ‘This morning, I woke for the first time in a year without a pain that made me sick and dizzy. I can read your face like a map and don’t need to ask what or how.’ 
     ‘It worked?’ Carra sat up. ‘What we did worked?’ 
     Ædra nodded and Carra threw herself into her friend’s embrace and their bodies became as one in each others’ arms. 
     A gentle knock came at the door and Ædra looked over Carra’s shoulder to her brother’s guilty face. She beckoned to him and he walked over, sat on the edge of the big bed and then felt acutely embarrassed as two completely naked girls, one his twin sister and the other beginning to bulge with his unborn child, suddenly leapt out of the sheets, rolled all over him and smothered him with their repeated kissed.


     Aedra spent the winter at Ebor and her brother was delighted that she had become her old self again. Ædra would be seen every day preaching and teaching to the Anglisc and Britons in and around the city and then devote each evening to sitting with Ædred and Carra. She would spend hours on her brother’s knee, reading to him, or brushing Carra’s long hair, or playing with Ælle and Tania. 
     ‘Ebor has changed a lot,’ said Ædred one day. 
     ‘They like the peace, my brother, and the fairness. It was very wise of you to retain the Chief Druid as senior advisor.’ 
     ‘It seemed the logical thing to do,’ replied Ædred. ‘He knows the life and customs of the Cymbri better than I. The Anglisc seem to refer to the Celtic Britons as the WÆlas, the strangers, which seems odd as the Britons were here first.’ 
     ‘So I suppose your second-in-command is a sort of Prince of the WÆlas then?’ 
     ‘Yes, he is. It does seem to work well.’ 
     ‘I can’t help noticing that many of the new arrivals are from Jutland and have great difficulty in pronouncing the name of our city.’ 
     ‘How do you mean?’ 
     ‘Well, as you know, the city was originally called Ebor or because of the great number of wild boar in the region. The Romans, as they seem to have done everywhere else, added their “UM” to the end and it became Eboracum.’ 
     ‘In legal documents, it still retains that title, little sister. The Britons may have reverted to using the old name, Ebor, in general conversation but, in business transactions, it is still Eboracum.’ 
     ‘And now the Anglisc, because of all the activity in dairy produce, call the area around the city Eborwick.’ 
     ‘I’ve noticed that.’ 
     ‘However, the new immigrants have difficulty in pronouncing the hard “B” and, therefore, call the area “Eorwick” or even, sometimes, “Yorick”. It’s funny how the name has changed, even over just the last few years.’ 
     ‘Who knows. In the future, the name may change some more. It might even get shortened to “York”.’ 
     They laughed at the ridiculous notion.


     Carra’s time was up in March and she gave birth to another boy, Ælric. Ædra spent hours with her new nephew until Carra was on her feet again. As the sun indicated the beginning of the Spring solstice, the Princess made her plans to return to Iarum. A month later, she left with the maid that her brother had insisted upon for company and rode northwards towards her home.


     The fleet of longships glided silently through the early morning mist towards the red rocks which marked the edge of the Slems. It was the evil, misty place where many a life had been lost on those wide, flat marshes skirting the River of Shifting Sands. The leader held up his arm and the oars were shipped and swords drawn. It had been a long, hard journey and now they were ready for action. 
     Others had come before them, ones who had come to this island in peace, learning how to live alongside the native Britons and trading with them as if they were brothers. 
     The leader smiled to himself. Those people were not men, but were like old women who had forgotten the dream of conquest and adventure. Was he not BlÆnica, the dreaded Seaxon warrior who had driven the Anglisc from their lands and into the sea? Had he not pillaged the towns south of the Humber and gathered a great fortune in gold and spices? Were his men not the very best, men who could rape a hundred women in one day? 
     Now he was here, close to the Teas valley, where plunder lay thick on the ground. Plunder ready to be plucked from a people who were boasting of their new Christian God. Were the traditional gods, Thunor and Woden, not good enough for them? 
     He would show them and make an example of them. Within a month, he swore to his gods, he would burn to the ground every single Christian church in the Cleeve Land. He would tie up all the Christian men so that they can witness his men raping their wives and daughters. He would then have them dismembered in front of their very eyes. Then, he thought, I will slowly burn the men alive. He smiled. He was quite looking forward to it.


     In mid April, a stranger rode into the city holding a piece of paper. Through sheer determination, he had worked out the first line of the riddle. The wild boar was Ebor and the name of the River Eause was one of the uses of the Celtic term “Usso”, meaning “waters”. He looked up at the thick, stone walls of the strongest place in town, scratched his three-week growth of beard and wondered where on earth the blue met the brown.


     Borin sat in his castle and listened to the wind as it howled across the Fordd valley. After the death of his father three years ago, he had been lonely. He must get himself a wife, he decided. 
     ‘I must go south,’ he declared to Warun, his chief advisor and religious leader. 
     ‘I regret, my Lord, that I am too old now to undertake such a journey. But I will give it my blessing.’ 
     ‘I seek plunder and a wife.’ 
     ‘And revenge, surely.’ 
     ‘Most of all, revenge for the humiliation my father suffered. I will particularly enjoy visiting this Iarum about which you have spoken. They must be made to pay for the death of my father.’ 
     ‘Be careful, my Lord Borin. They were brave fighters. It will not be easy.’ 
     ‘I will take my best men. I think that twenty-five thousand Cruithni warriors should be enough for the total massacre of the people of Northumbria and Ebor.’ 
     ‘The gods indicate a great victory. But they will not be happy unless you slaughter them all.’ 
     ‘Have no fear, my good soothsayer. The sacrifice will be very great. I swear by all our gods that, just a few weeks from now, there will be nothing at all left alive north of the Humber.


     Start at the top, his father had once told him. With head high, the stranger walked along the corridor towards the Multangular Tower at Ebor. Ahead of him was the figure of a boy who looked no more than eighteen or nineteen. He was seated upon the throne and looked so much like the giant at Camelot. 
     He laid his sword upon the floor and spoke. ‘Forgive me, Sire. I am Galahad of Gaul and come from Camelot to seek favour with the King of Deira.’ 
     ‘You may rise,’ said Ædred. ‘Have you had food after your long journey?’ 
     ‘No, sire,’ he replied. 
     Ædred clicked his fingers and the guard scurried away. ‘What of my Uncle Gann?’ 
     ‘Gann? The Giant?’ Galahad relaxed a little. How much should he reveal to this mere boy? ‘He is well.’ 
     ‘And what brings you from Gaul, Sir Galahad?’ the king asked pleasantly, indicating a stool as Carra entered with a tray of food. She wore a short, dark dress with gold clasps and had her hair long in bunches. Galahad gaped at the seventeen-year-old queen. 
     ‘I come on a quest,’ he admitted. 
     ‘A quest?’ laughed Carra. ‘Do they still do that sort of thing in Gaul?’ 
     She looked beautiful when she laughed and Galahad fought, desperately, to tear his eyes from her. 
     ‘How far have you got?’ asked Ædred. 
     Galahad was still watching Carra and the king smiled and repeated the question. Galahad flustered and pulled out his paper. ‘I was asked to find the waters where the old wild boar crosses. I have surmised that this means Ebor.’ 
     ‘You have done well, my friend. Is this one of Gann’s riddles?’ 
     ‘I believe so, my Lord King.’ 
     ‘So why did you come here, to the castle?’ asked Carra. 
     ‘The next part says; “Seek the place where the blue meets brown, at the strongest place in town.”’ 
     ‘Ah,’ said Ædred with inspiration. ‘And have you found it yet?’ 
     ‘I must admit to being quite perplexed, Your Majesty. What are blue and what are brown?’ 
     ‘Do you not know?’ 
     ‘No, sire.’ 
     Carra smiled as Ædred held out his hand to her and they sat together and beckoned Galahad. Reluctantly, he climbed to the throne and looked from face to face. 
     ‘What do you see?’ asked Carra with a cheeky smile. 
     ‘An Anglisc King and a Cymbric Queen,’ he replied, still puzzled. 
     Carra held out her hand and he glanced at the king before taking it and stepping closer. Their faces were inches away from his as they tried hard to control their laughter. He looked into the King’s blue eyes and then to Carra’s large mocking brown ones and the pfennig dropped.


     They had a party that night and Galahad shaved himself and took the bath he so desperately needed. Carra played the perfect hostess and he felt strangely at home with this odd young couple who obviously had the population of Deira eating out of their hands. Britannia had certainly changed since his father’s day. 
     ‘May I see the rest of your riddle?’ Carra asked cheekily as the wine began to take effect. 
     ‘Of course,’ he said and took out the paper. 
     Carra read aloud. ‘Climb upon a big white horse and a day on the Long Bar must be your course.’ 
     ‘The first bit is easy,’ Galahad said. ‘I’ve got a big, white horse.’ 
     ‘Not nearly big enough,’ called Ædred from the far side of Carra. 
     ‘What do you mean?’ 
     ‘Yours is the wrong white horse, my friend. Show me the rest.’ 
     Carra handed the sheet of paper to her husband and Ædred read it before bursting out laughing. He whispered conspiratorially in Carra’s ear and she laughed, too. 
     ‘Oh, my dear Galahad,’ she laughed, snuggling up to his arm. ‘Have you got a treat in store for you.’ 
     Galahad flustered, partly from Carra’s over-friendly advances in front of her husband and partly because he did not see the joke. He had not yet learned what a mad family he was staying with, and that Carra was naturally like that with everyone, and it was why her people loved her. He also did not yet know that Ædred would have had his head off if he had laid one finger on his wife. 
     ‘Give me a clue,’ he pleaded. 
     ‘I will not spoil it by giving all away but I will tell you that, north of here, is a long range of hills the Anglisc call the Hambleton Hills. The Cymbric Celts, however, were here first and they called it the Long Bar, the elongated range of hills joining Deira to the Cleeveland. 
     ‘Where does the white horse come in?’ 
     ‘If you stand on top of the castle on a fine day, you can see the white horse. It is carved into the hillside at the southern end of the Long Bar near the south enclosure on the edge of the hill. Just follow the old Roman Road from the North Gate until you come to it.’ 
     ‘What about Constantine teasing Dagon?’ 
     ‘Well, Emperor Constantine did live here in Ebor for a while, so you’re very close.’ 
     ‘Then the riddle ends here in Ebor?’ 
     ‘No. It says, “a day on the Long Bar must be your course”. You must travel a day’s journey northwards, along the ridge, the view is quite spectacular, I can assure you.’ 
     ‘You have been to this place of which the riddle speaks?’ 
     ‘Oh yes, Carra and I used to live there. In fact, we were married there.’ Ædred slipped his arm around Carra’s shoulder. ‘Our eldest child was born there.’ 
     Galahad looked astounded at Carra. ‘You have a child? You don’t look old enough.’ 
     ‘Sir Galahad, you flatterer.’ She leant over and kissed his cheek. ‘I have three children, Ælle, Tania and Ælric.’ 
     ‘But you looked so happy.’ 
     Carra nearly choked from laughing. ‘Sir Galahad. I am indeed very happy. I have the best husband in the world and three beautiful children, how could I be happier?’ 
     He was embarrassed and changed the subject. ‘What is this bit about Constantine teasing Dagon?’ 
     ‘It’s a play on words, my friend,’ said Ædred. 
     ‘Who is this Dagon? An Anglisc?’ 
     ‘No?’ Carra laughed. ‘He was the fish god of the Philistines. Read the Book, my friend, and the clue will be yours.’ 
     ‘I’m very confused. Where do I bend my knees and how on earth can I cut off a piece of the golden sun?’ 
     ‘Sir Galahad,’ said Carra seriously. ‘When you get to this place, you will see the golden sun. If you are permitted to cut a piece off it, you will be a very happy man, I promise.’ 
     ‘That’s what Gann said.’ 
     Ædred shrugged and smiled. ‘Gann is my uncle, he should know.’ 


THREE


     Ædra’s arrival at Iarum prompted elaborate festivities such as had never been seen before. The street was lined with people and a great fair was in progress in the market place. On the river, boats ran mock battles over the ford and children played on land and in the water. Almost the whole population of Crayethorne and Eccles Cliff were there, too, and tears of joy streamed down her face as she was helped from her horse by big Mungo from Crayethorne. 
     She could scarcely believe it as gifts were placed at the door to her little house beside the church and food laid out in the warm, spring sunshine. This was where she wanted to be, where she felt at home. The gifts were simple, the festivities somewhat crude in nature but it was the thought which was being displayed so effectively by these simple people that counted. 
     ‘We very glad to see you,’ greeted Mungo as he held her slight frame in his big arms while folk around them cheered and bellowed. 
     ‘Oh, Mungo. I’m so glad to be home,’ she said loudly above the noise. 
     ‘We have something to show you,’ he proudly announced and her head went on one side and her hair shone like the sun. He would not put her down but carried her to the river, which was at low tide and carried her across, the whole town following behind. Waist-deep, he carried her in his arms like a baby, her long legs hanging over his arm. Puzzled, she relaxed in his strong arms as he carried her up the far slope. 
     ‘Now you close eyes,’ he commanded and she queried with her eyes before smiling and closing them firmly. He carried her up the long hill and onto the top where he carefully put her legs to the ground and stood behind her, his big gnarled hands on her slim shoulders. 
     People gradually accumulated around them and she tensed herself, excitement running through every fibre of her being. She knew she had been carried to Eccles Cliff and, suspected, onto Devil’s Hill itself where, years ago, she had offered herself as human sacrifice to put an end to the terrifying druidic practices which had been carried on there for centuries. The gentle breeze blew on her face as she stood in anticipation as to what was to happen. 
     ‘Open eyes now,’ big Mungo commanded her. 
     She did and nearly fainted with delight. It was a church. Not big like the one at Eborwick but strong, made of wood on a stone base and topped with a slate roof. She ran round the building, touching and looking, like a child exploring her first doll’s house. Eventually, she undid the thongs on her legs, kicked off her leather sandals and walked inside. It was very simple as churches were intended to be, with lots of seats and a place to stand and read from the Book. Ædra fell to her knees at the front and spent a long time, with head bowed, thanking the God who had made all this possible; the God who had changed the lives of these simple folk at Iarum. Now there were two churches for her to teach from and she was delighted as she shuffled out into the daylight with a broad smile on her face. 
     Ædra walked around the crowd, greeting the families and children by name, remembering every one, forgetting none. There were one or two strangers who seemed surprised that the teacher they had been told so much about was so young and, one was heard to remark, so very beautiful. 
     Although being the daughter of the Cymbric King, Arthur, she was born of an English mother, Princess Rowena of Hengist, and it was from her mother that she had got her tall, slim frame, golden hair and blue eyes. The only physical attributes she seemed to have received from her father was the bearing of a true queen and the intelligence of a soothsayer. From this combination of royal persons, she had gained a power, a force which could work miracles, minor ones when alone, tremendously powerful ones when in the company of her twin brother. 
     Ædra used the power sparingly. She had placed her faith and trust in God now and to use her powers to selfish ends would give the wrong impression entirely. It could bring disciples with the wrong motives as some had come to Jesus to be fed and cured but without true faith or Christian inclination. Her powers were reserved for emergencies only and always directed to doing the will of God and for His glory. 
     The party was held on Eccles Cliff and, she found with delight, the people had built her a little house beside the church to where they had moved all her belongings. 
     The view was beautiful. The home that she had been using in the centre of Iarum had been pleasant, with a view to Worsall, but here she could see the whole of the valley from the large window that had been put in, facing the valley, with a big shutter to pull down at night and in wintertime. 
     Wine flowed freely and children danced to the music from several stringed instruments and flute-like tubes. The presents had been brought across and stacked on the long veranda overlooking the valley and a bed had been brought in for the maid she had brought from Eborwick. 
     MÆve was a short, fair-haired girl of about fourteen with a pleasant smile - an orphan from one of the Anglisc ships which had survived the long and hazardous journey across the Norsey when the Anglekeln had been driven from their lands by the Huns and the fierce, southern Seaxon tribes. She spoke very little but worked hard for the Princess whom she had come to love dearly. Now that they were home, Ædra insisted that she did not live separately but stayed, inside, with her. 
     ‘There will be no kind of slavery in Iarum,’ she had made it quite clear one day to MÆve’s amazement. ‘God made us equal, with neither class nor race distinction, therefore that is how it shall be in my house. You will eat and drink at the table with me and sleep in the same room as me. If you want to work to help me in my ministry, then you must be treated well for that work and be rewarded appropriately.’ 
     MÆve had not believed her ears at first but the proof of the pudding had been in the eating and she was very happy in her position.

     Life at Iarum fell into a pleasant pattern over the next few days with Ædra firmly ensconced in the town square on market day, teaching the many traders who came by horse, wagon and river boat to trade at the little Roman town. She would be seen sitting on a stool at the entrance to the little church, MÆve beside her, explaining the teachings and miracles of Jesus to the Britons, Celts, Anglisc and Northumbrians who came to trade or simply to listen to her clear voice. Others just came and watched, amazed as this young woman sat and spoke with a wisdom not found among many of their village elders. 
     Churchman Rodric and his wife, Hulda, would help out on non-market days, while Ædra visited the local villages of Crayethorne, Worsall and Leventune. A couple of times, she spent a few days away at Denusdael and Sockburn and, by midsummer, a church had been set up in a clearing at the foot of Cringle Moor in the village that came to be known as Stokeleah. 
     It was difficult at times. Some of the non-locals had picked up some strange beliefs that were not in the Book, and Ædra spent hours reasoning with the from its teaching. One of the most difficult to overcome was that of baptism. The Church of Rome was determined to become the Church with the biggest following and had started, against all previous teachings and against the example of their founder, Christ himself, to baptise infants. Ædra refused to do this. 
     ‘Christ was a full-grown man when he was baptised,’ she would assure her hearers. ‘The apostles and disciples were all grown men and women who had chosen the Christian way and that is how it will be here in Britannia. What is the point of baptising a baby who has not decided to serve God and who might change his mind later?’ 
     ‘Better it is not to vow,’ she would quote from the Book, ‘Than to vow and not pay.’ 
     ‘Let your “yes” mean “yes”.’ she repeated of Jesus. ‘And your “no” mean “no”. How can a mere child, who can neither say “yes” nor “no”, be in a position to make up its mind about what it wants to do in life?’ 
     She was adamant. They might fall for that sort of trick in Londinium and Cant but here, in the north, the people are not to be fooled so easily simply to boost the ego and numbers of a corrupt Church which burns as heretics all who dare find fault with its teachings. 
     If the Church had been made up entirely of reasonable men like the Cardinal had proved to be, she thought to herself, men who would listen and reason, it would not have been so bad. Unfortunately, men like the Bishop, who had repeatedly tried to have her killed because of her stand for truth, were welcomed and elevated to enhance the riches and prestige of an organisation which seemed only to be interested in world domination. 
     Not all accepted the truth, of course. Some enjoyed a life style which gained from slavery and corruption and any positive support of the truth would be inconvenient for them. When she encountered these, she was, at times, grateful for the presence of MÆve who was able to offer at least moral support. No-one dare harm her, her reputation preceded her, and to hurt Sainte Ædra of Iarum would be like committing suicide. 
     However, there was one man who had not heard of Ædra and, if he had, it is doubtful as to whether it would have worried him. He crept ashore at Reedcarr just as the mist rose from the sea and his men encircled the village with its small church. The people were warned and fled in panic, except for two. 
     Harald and Emma were Britons. They were now old but, in his youth, Harald had fought alongside King Arthur in Mercea. Once, he saved the life of the King’s daughter and he was proud to be called a friend of Princess Ædra. 
     They stood in the doorway of their little fishing cottage as the men approached and looted the empty houses. The leader finally approached them. 
     ‘I am BlÆnica the Terrible,’ he announced. ‘Where are the people?’ 
     ‘They have fled,’ said the old soldier. ‘They are Christian and a peaceful people. They will do you no harm.’ 
     ‘Are you Christian?’ the pirate demanded. 
     Harald hesitated as the Seaxon War Lord drew his short sword. 
     ‘We are,’ announced his aged wife beside him with head high. ‘And proud of it.’ 
     The sword scarcely made a sound as it struck the side of her neck and she silently fell to her knees, blood gushing down her best dress. Harald knew that there was nothing he could do for the woman he had loved all his life, so he watched her as she fell and twitched her last then defiantly glared back at the Seaxon. ‘When the Princess gets to hear of this you will all die.’ 
     The warrior guffawed a horrible laugh and dragged Harald out of the doorway and into the church nearby. 
     ‘Tie him to the church,’ he instructed. ‘He must burn inside it for his defiance.’ 
     Harald did not say a word as he was tied to the central upright and left to burn as the church was torched. 
     The blaze was seen at Saltburn and Astun and, by evening, the rider rode into Iarum with the sad news. 
     Ædra was livid. It had been a long time since the villagers had seen her angry and they shook with fear at what she might attempt to do. 
     All the next morning, reports came in of fires in the coastal villages as she summoned the thegn and council. 
     ‘Who are these pirates?’ asked Churchman Rodric. 
     ‘I have heard they are Seaxons,’ replied the Roman, Polimus. 
     ‘Then they ought to know better,’ said Ædra vehemently. 
     ‘What can we do?’ asked Alaric, the blacksmith. 
     ‘One thing is certain,’ said Polimus. ‘They will not stop at destroying the coastal villages. Soon, they will be here in Iarum.’ 
     ‘We must find them and attack them first,’ declared Ædra. 
     ‘How can we do that?’ 
     ‘Are you all with me?’ she asked. 
     ‘Of course,’ they all agreed. They would not even consider the thought of not supporting their unofficial leader. 
     ‘Very well. Mungo,’ she said to the big chieftain from Crayethorne. ‘I want you to take men and find their boats. I suspect they will be moored in the estuary somewhere, out of the way of storms. They are likely to be guarded but you must take them at whatever the cost.’ 
     Mungo smiled. ‘It shall be done.’ 
     ‘When I signal to you with three fires, you must set them ablaze.’ 
     He nodded. 
     ‘Alaric, you will pass as a Seaxon. Would you get as close as you can and find out where their main camp is? On your steed you will easily outrun them if you are recognised.’ 
     Big, fair, Alaric grinned and flexed his broad shoulders. ‘I will enjoy it.’ 
     ‘Polimus, I want you to take care of defending the town. Rebuild the fort on the maidun if need be. You might also consider renovating the fort overlooking the Leven opposite Brewsdael and building a palisade on Eccles Cliffe.’ 
     He bowed. ‘Your wish is my command. Where will we fight them?’ 
     ‘“We” will not fight them. I will fight them.’ 
     They stared in amazement. They knew she was brave but this was madness. 
     ‘At least inform your brother,’ suggested Polimus. 
     ‘King Ædred already knows,’ she said with a smile. 
     ‘But how?’ 
     ‘I have told him.’ 
     Now they knew she was mad. Ebor was a long day’s journey south on horseback and they only found out about the pirates themselves last night. How can she have told the king so soon? They had forgotten the power. 
     ‘When I know where they are based, I will destroy them,’ she stated formally. ‘Alaric, it is up to you. I need to know where they are.’ 
     The smith stood up. ‘I will leave this afternoon and will be able to see their fires at night.’ 
     ‘God go with you, my friend,’ she said as he left.


     Aedra went to the church as the late afternoon sun dipped towards Worsall bank. She went on her knees at the front in earnest prayer. 
     ‘Show me, Lord, what I should do. Send me a sign to know that you have heard my plea and will help me to drive this barbarian away. Help me to teach these people to live in peace without fear from invaders.’ 
     She wept as she prayed fervently. 
     ‘If it is your will, Lord, help me to have a great victory which will help me to spread your word again among the villages. 
     She did not hear the horse’s hooves as the rider in black entered the town from the south. He had read the Book in the church at Eboracum and he now knew that Dagon was the fish-god of the Philistines and he had come to where CÆsar had set up the salmon fisheries in the Teas valley. It was certainly a play on words as the King of Ebor had said. 
     The line about bending the knees could only be a reference to the church, he thought, and he dismounted quietly before it as people of the town scurried hither and thither in some form of frantic activity. 
     Tying his white horse to the tree outside, he walked with quickened pace around to the river side and towards the door of the church where the rays of light shone into the open doorway and, there, right in front of him, was the golden sun he had come so far to find. 

FOUR


     Ædra rose slowly to her feet and walked, barefoot, towards the shadow, her eyes glistening deep blue, her hair glowing like the sun in its reflected glow. 
     ‘I have found the golden sun,’ said the shadow in a pleasant voice. 
     Ædra put her head on one side and smiled. ‘Are you the Christ?’ 
     The shadow laughed and removed the black helmet as Ædra looked at the face that was haloed by the setting sun and the fair hair bordering it. The shadow fell to its knees and a gloved hand took hers carefully. A tingle ran up her spine as his lips caressed the back of her small hand. This, surely, was a sign from God. 
     ‘I am Galahad of Gaul,’ he said. ‘I come from Camelot on a quest.’ 
     ‘A quest?’ she queried. 
     He took the paper from his belt and she took it. After a moment, she dragged her eyes from his face and read the riddle. 
     She smiled. ‘I see you have met my uncle.’ 
     ‘Your uncle? But he can’t be. I’ve just met...’ Suddenly it all fell into place. ‘You are the Princess Ædra.’ 
     ‘You are clever,’ she said. 
     ‘It’s your hair, isn’t it? The King of Ebor is your brother.’ 
     ‘My twin,’ she confirmed. ‘If you have seen the blue and the brown, you will have met Ædred and Carra.’ 
     He bowed. ‘I have indeed, Highness.’ 
     ‘And now you have come to cut off my hair.’ 
     Even in the poor light which shone from behind him, she could see him blush. He can’t be more than twenty-five, she thought. Perhaps he has come to save us from the barbarian from over the sea. He was still holding her hand so she gripped it. 
     ‘Follow me,’ she said. ‘If you are to have my hair, you must earn it. Come and eat with me.’ 
     She led him past amazed faces who watched Princess, Knight and horse walking through their town. At the ford, Galahad’s strong arms lifted Ædra onto the mount before leading it across to Eccles Cliff and her new home. MÆve could not believe her eyes as this knight in shining armour lifted her mistress from the horse and onto the veranda outside the door. 
     ‘Can we make dinner stretch to three, MÆve?’ Ædra asked and her maid curtsied low and nodded earnestly. 
     ‘I have failed my quest,’ Galahad admitted after they had eaten. 
     ‘Failed? But you found me.’ 
     ‘Failed because now that I have seen you, I cannot cut off a piece of your hair, it is far too precious.’ 
     ‘Then I will do it for you,’ she offered, picking up a knife. 
     ‘No.’ He grabbed her hand. ‘If I cannot have all of you, I do not want any of you.’ 
     Her eyes glinted in the last dying light of the sun through the window. 
     ‘Is that an improper suggestion, my dear Galahad?’ she asked cheekily. ‘Because, if it is, I would remind you that I am the daughter of King Arthur of Camelot.’ 
     ‘Princess, an improper thought never entered my head. I would have you know that I would have your hand as a wife or not at all.’
     ‘And they’ve only just met,’ sighed MÆve. 
     They all laughed aloud and Ædra put her hands over his. ‘I promise you what I promised my Lord. If I can defeat the Seaxon War Lord who is terrorising the Cleeveland, I would give my life to him. If you would be satisfied with just my hand, I would gladly give it to you.’ 
     ‘You would wed me?’ he asked incredulously. ‘But you are a Princess.’ 
     ‘And you are a brave knight, Sir Galahad.’ 
     ‘How do you know?’ 
     ‘You have come all the way from Camelot, alone, not knowing what you would find. You are either very brave or very desperate in Gaul.’ 
     He pulled back his shoulders. ‘I came to take away my family’s shame.’ 
     ‘Why would coming here do that?’ 
     He explained. 
     ‘So you thought I would be angry?’ 
     ‘Some of the Knights at Camelot were sure that you would have me executed on sight.’ 
     ‘I will not have you killed, Sir Galahad. If you help me to defeat the Seaxon pirates, I will return to Camelot as your wife. Would that satisfy your family honour, do you think?’ 
     ‘It would indeed, Princess.’

     The next morning, Alaric rode into town and dropped from his horse in the market place where the thegn was gathered. He bowed to Ædra ‘They are in the old fortress at the foot of the cliffs on Astun Nab. They have rebuilt some of the wall and, I estimate, have over a hundred men.’ 
     ‘Can it be overthrown?’ 
     ‘Princess,’ interrupted Polimus. ‘The fort at Astun Nab is virtually impregnable. My father told me stories of how the Parisi held out there for many years against our armies. It is impossible to reach it from the south because of the steep cliffs which give the Cleeve land its name and reputation. To the north is just the old village and then the slems, or marshes, right down to the edge of the Teas. They have chosen well.’ 
     ‘Then let us hope that Mungo can find their boats. If he has, it will be the pirates who will be cut off.’ She turned and smiled. ‘Come, Galahad, you must take me on your horse to Astun. Let us find out how terrible this BlÆnica really is.’ 
     Mouths gaped as Galahad reached down and lifted Ædra onto his big white stallion, and they both rode off alone together. They crossed the Leven at Crayethorne and could soon see the tall cliffs of the Nab in the far distance. Ædra sang as they trotted along in the afternoon sun and Galahad smiled at the bravery of this young woman perched, side saddle, upon his horse. He had no idea as to what they were going to do when they got there but, he noticed, every now and then, Ædra would stop singing and concentrate as if trying to communicate with something or someone remote. He assumed she was deep in prayer. 
     As the sun went down, they rode under the Long Bank and entered the deep forest which encircled the bleak moors to their south. If he had been alone, it was about here he would have started to worry about his sanity. But, somehow, the girl’s quiet manner gave him the confidence he lacked. 
     The sun was setting as they pushed through the waters of Cross Beck and began to climb into the thinner woods covering the lower slopes of the Nab and, finally, stopped at the first defensive dike. 
     ‘Stay here,’ she whispered as Galahad tied his horse to a tree. ‘I want you to build three great piles of brushwood.’ She pointed. ‘Here, here and here.’ 
     ‘Light a fire torch and keep it hidden behind the dike,’ she continued. ‘As soon as I call out your name, light the fires. Can you do that?’ 
     ‘Of course,’ he replied. ‘But I don’t understand.’ 
     ‘You will, my friend. You will.’ She turned to go. ‘Oh, and when you have lit the fires, climb to the top of this slope with your horse. I will meet you there. Whatever you do, don’t stay here.’ 
     He smiled in the half-light. ‘I will do as you say.’ He grabbed her arm. ‘Princess Ædra, please be careful.’ 
     She reached up and kissed him gently. ‘Yes, my beloved,’ she said and left, uphill, into the growing darkness. 
     The hill was very steep and Ædra was out of breath by the time the camp was in sight. The pirates were so confident that she saw no guards as she climbed within fifty yards of the walls of their camp. Eventually, she sat on a outcrop of rock to get her breath back and looked out across the slems to the river. It looked eerie in the darkness - the water on the marshes reflecting what was left of the light in the sky. She smiled as she saw the moon just beginning to rise out of the sea near Saltburn cliffs. 
     She waited for some time until, she was sure, Galahad must have had fulfiled his portion. She then climbed, carefully, up onto the tall pinnacle of ironstone rock in her long white dress and with the golden Torc around her smooth neck and raised herself erect, lifting her face to the sky.


     Above in the encampment, Torsel raised his head. ‘What’s that?’ 
     ‘Just a wolf,’ remarked BlÆnica, kicking a log on the fire which they kept deliberately low so as to avoid attracting unwanted visitors. ‘You are afraid of every shadow, my brother.’ 
     The howl came again, seemingly closer. 
     ‘Throw it a bone,’ said Gorlag. ‘It’s hungry.’ They all laughed to hide their nervousness as they looked up at the full moon which was just rising above the distant cliffs. 
     The howling turned to a screeching and one or two got up to look over the edge of the fortifications. One fell back, panic on his face. 
     ‘It’s a ghost,’ he said and the others just laughed at him till they looked and saw the white vision, seemingly standing in mid air, before them. 
     ‘Whoooo...aarre...yooooou?’ came the howling again. 
     ‘It is the goddess Frigg,’ said one. 
     ‘No, ’tis the Roman Venus.’ 
     ‘Or Diana,’ suggested another. 
     ‘I am BlÆnica,’ said the leader standing with one foot on the edge of the fortifications, leaning upon his knee. ‘Who are you?’ 
     ‘IIII aaaam Ædraaaa,’ said the spirit vision. 
     ‘Why do you come here to haunt us?’ he shouted. 
     Her arm slowly raised and pointed straight at him. ‘I come to kill you.’ 
     The voice was suddenly harsher and one or two drew back. Men who were merciless in battle felt their knees shaking before this terrifying apparition. 
     ‘Kill us? You cannot kill us,’ BlÆnica shouted. ‘We are not afraid of an Anglisc goddess. I am BlÆnica the Terrible and fear no-one.’ 
     ‘Did you destroy the churches at Reedcarr and Saltburn?’ the spirit asked. 
     ‘Of course we did and we killed all the people. We intend to kill everyone here until we are rich.’ 
     ‘I came to offer you a chance to leave in peace, but now I cannot do that, you must all dieeeeee.’ 
     ‘We will not die,’ replied the Seaxon leader defiantly. ‘We will sail away in our long ships and pillage elsewhere if we so wish.’ 
     ‘Gaaaalaaahaaad,’ came the howling reply and, after only a moment, great sheets of flame rose into the air and burst onto the hillside below them. Men who had fought mighty battles were petrified as the orange flames rose towards the heavens in three straight columns of fire. Three, the Seaxon symbol of complete domination by their triad of pagan gods. 
     ‘Behoooold,’ called the voice above the crackling of flames. 
     The apparition appeared to be standing right in the midst of the flames as an arm slowly pointed and one fire after another sprang up along the distant water’s edge. 
     ‘It’s our ships,’ shouted one of the Seaxons. ‘She commands the fire and the water. We are doomed.’ Ædra sighed with relief at this proof that Mungo had completed his part of the plan. Now it was up to her brother. 
     ‘Don’t be stupid, it’s a trick,’ said BlÆnica, not sounding terribly convincing. 
     ‘Ædred, here me now,’ she called and her blue eyes began to shine in the darkness. 
     The ground began to thunder and shudder. She raised her arms and great rocks and balls of fire began to fall out of heaven upon the amassed pirates. 
     As the screams of dying men reached her ears, Ædra nimbly jumped from her lofty perch and ran for her life as rocks of all sizes cascaded down the hillside, smashing and crushing everything in their path. Breathless, she reached the spot where Galahad waited and he lifted her onto his horse. 
     ‘That way,’ she pointed and he strode up the hill, pulling horse and rider behind him. 
     It was a long time before the ground stopped bucking and heaving and the fires that had destroyed the rest of their camp gradually died down. From the top of the hill, they could see right down into the bandits’ camp and there was not a solitary sign of life left there. A sound behind them made Galahad turn and reach for his sword. 
     ‘You arrived just in time,’ said Ædra as her brother stepped into the moonlight beside them. 
     ‘I heard your call, Ædra, and came as quickly as I could.’ 
     ‘You did well, causing that avalanche when you did.’ 
     ‘Piece of cake,’ he grinned and clutched his sister tightly around the shoulders. ‘I just went round to the tall cliffs above the Nab as you indicated and we levered a few rocks loose. Gravity did the rest.’ 
     ‘Your trick with the burning trees frightened the pants off them,’ she laughed. 
     ‘It nearly did the same to me,’ laughed Galahad who spoke for the first time since the incident. ‘I was beginning to think that you really were the witch I had heard rumours about.’ 
     They all laughed as Ædred’s army of Anglisc and Britons emerged from the darkness, the Chief Druid among them. 
     ‘Why, my Lord Khana,’ greeted Ædra with a smile. ‘How good to see you again.’ 
     ‘I am amazed, my princess. When I heard what your brother was attempting to do, I admit that I did not believe him. I could not understand why he would attack a group of fellow Anglekeln.‘ 
     ‘They were traitors, Galfor,’ said the King. ‘They deserved to die. I will not permit anyone to break the peace in my kingdom, Briton or Anglisc.’ 
     He bowed. ‘I have seen it with my own eyes and believe it. I will never doubt you again.’ 
     Galahad laughed. ‘If I had not seen it, I most certainly would not have believed it.’ 
     Ædra slipped her arm through her brothers’. ‘We are a team, you see.’


     They lit campfires and slept at the foot of the Nab and returned to Iarum the next morning. They were not, however, prepared for what they would find. Signs of devastation were everywhere as they walked slowly, as if in a daze, through the deserted town which had been Ædra’s home. 
     ‘Where is everyone?’ asked Ædred. His sister shook her head sadly as she noticed the burnt houses and the remains of the produce scattered everywhere. 
     Ædra cried out as she ran forward and picked up the mutilated body of a young child from the road and held its bloody body close to hers. 
     ‘It is Liela,’ she whimpered. ‘Rodric and Hulda’s daughter.’ 
     It was then that she saw part of Rodric’s body beneath the ruins of the church. She gasped and stepped slowly forward and saw that he had been beaten to death in a most vicious manner. Stepping towards the burnt out church, she then saw Hulda, screamed and nearly dropped the body of the young child as she sat down in the dust and cried. 
     Ædred rushed forward and looked inside the broken entrance to the church. He fought to hold back the bile in his throat as he observed the body of the young churchman’s wife tied spread-eagle and naked across the altar. There was no doubting how she had been made to suffer before she had died. 
     ‘Don’t go in,’ he said to Galahad with a hand on his chest. 
     ‘What have they done?’ he asked. 
     Ædred looked into his eyes. ‘She must have resisted their rape.’ 
     Galahad was horrified. ‘She is dead?’ 
     ‘Oh, yes. She died–eventually. She has been abused in the most obscene manner.’ 
     They stood in silence until a sound made them turn. It was Alaric, blood all over him, his left arm a mess. He fell to his knees beside them and Ædra sent one of Ædred’s men for water and she bathed his wounds carefully. 
     ‘It was the Cruithni,’ he managed to blurt out. ‘They are headed for Ebor.’ 
     ‘Ebor,’ said Ædred. A cold hand clutched his heart. ‘Carra.’ 
     ‘How many are left here?’ asked Ædra. 
     ‘We are about a hundred at the Maidun. They did not have the time to stay and besiege us so they left us and pressed forward to Ebor.’ 
     ‘How many of them are there?’ Ædred asked. 
     ‘Thousands,’ said Alaric between his teeth as he fought back the pain as Ædra straightened his broken arm. 
     ‘Ædred,’ called Ædra suddenly. ‘Hold my hand.’ 
     Her brother reached out his hand and she bent over Alaric for a moment. She whispered in his ear as she wrapped his arm in a piece of her own dress. ‘Take the bandage off when we have gone, and then help the others.’ 
     The blacksmith looked down at his bandaged arm which, for some strange reason, now had no pain. 
     Ædra stood up and took the dagger from her brother’s belt. With it, she cut off the bottom of her dress and gave it to Alaric to use as bandages. 
     ‘I will need a horse,’ she said, tucking the now shortened material between her legs and up into her waistband. 
     ‘Take mine,’ offered the Druid. ‘I am far too old for galloping. I will stay and help here.’ 
     Ædra smiled. ‘You are very kind, my Lord Khana.’ 
     ‘God go with you,’ he said with apparent difficulty. Ædra smiled back. Another milestone reached. A druid openly acknowledging the existence and power of a Christian God. 
     Ædra leapt onto the druid’s horse, a long bare leg either side of the magnificent creature and snatched a spear from one of the soldiers. ‘Well, what are you waiting for? Are you coming to save Ebor, or not?’ 
     The strong Anglisc King of Deira with his army and the Gaelic Knight in full battle armour raced towards Ebor that afternoon, but they were led by a skinny young girl, standing up in the saddle and whirling the spear around her head, dressed in a mutilated, bloodstained white dress, and with golden hair billowing out behind her in the wind. 

FIVE


     They stopped briefly at the confluence of the Swale and the Whisk for a break. Normally, they would have chosen the route along the high ridge, due to the marshy ground in the Swale valley. However, due to the long, dry spell, the ground would be passable and it would save them an hour. 
     ‘We must plan this carefully,’ Ædred insisted. He drew a sketch on the dry ground. ‘Our route will be controlled by the rivers as will theirs. Now the Eause runs more or less north of the city. The Fosse joins it beside the castle itself and the Swale, Eau and Nidde join it at these points. If we head straight into Ebor now, we will be trapped between the Eause and the Fosse. That is where the greater part of their army will be mustered.’ 
     ‘Can we not attack them there?’ offered Ædra enthusiastically.
     ‘We will be greatly outnumbered,’ her brother warned. ‘We must either get into the city, impossible if Ebor is totally surrounded, or attack them from behind at their weakest spot.’ 
     ‘Where will that be?’ asked Galahad. 
     ‘Either to the east, where we can approach through Osbaldwyke, or to the west via Acomb.’ 
     ‘Which is best?’ 
     ‘Either route will mean crossing rivers. To approach from Osbaldwyke will mean going east from here and crossing the River Fosse somewhere close to Marshtun upstream of where the river becomes swampy.’ 
     ‘And the west?’ 
     ‘More difficult. We will have to cross the Swale here and head for Burg Brycg to cross the Eau. Then, we must ford the Nidde and dare not risk that below Chenaresburgh. To get to that part of Ebor, we will have to cross all these to get to the west side of the city.’ 
     ‘Could the Cruithni have done that?’ 
     He nodded. ‘More easily than ourselves. The main force will likely have crossed the Teas by means of the old Roman bridge at Morbium and then ridden down Dere Street through Cataractone to Burg Brycg. If I had to guess, I would say that the ones who massacred the people of Iarum will be camped to the north of the city between the Fosse and the Eause and the rest will be to the west. Few will have bothered crossing to the east side.’ 
     ‘Then that is where we shall attack from,’ said Ædra. ‘We will destroy their force to the east and enter the city from that side. We can then patrol the Fosse to prevent their forces recrossing without a two-day detour via Marshtune. Can they cross the Eause below Ebor, do you think?’ 
     ‘Unlikely, there is no crossing place for massed troops until well downstream where they might find a boat. They would also be cut off by the River Wharfe at Appletun.’ 
     ‘We have another advantage at the east side,’ added Galahad. ‘If we strike at dawn, the sun will be low behind us and in their eyes.’ 
     ‘Good thinking, Galahad,’ said the King. ‘Could you take half o
     ‘And Ædra?’ asked Galahad. 
     The King glanced at his sister. ‘She had better stay close to me or else I shall get very angry with her.’ Ædra dropped her head in mock shame. He could think what he liked. There was just no way that she was going to be left out of this battle to save Ebor and avenge the dead of Iarum.

     As the first tinge of light touched the sky over Magna Drifeld, they were ready. Throughout the night, they had travelled eastward and then south, and Ædred had reached the beck with his sister and their small army. During the night, they had been joined by a score of men led by Mungo, fresh from boat-burning in the Teas estuary. 
     It was as they began to cross the carrs near Murtune that they realised they had grossly underestimated the size of the force of Picts which had come up against Ebor. Where the Anglisc had built their shanty villages of Heworth and Osbaldwick, there was now a sea of tents and Pict camp fires covered the flat lands as far as the eye could see. 
     ‘We cannot possibly take on such a force,’ whispered Ædred. ‘It would be madness.’ 
     ‘But we must do something,’ prompted Ædra. ‘Carra and the children are in the city as well as many thousands of other people like Inga and Karl. I am not going to let them be killed.’ 
     ‘What do you propose, Ædra?’ asked Galahad. 
     ‘We go ahead as planned. Attack in,’ she looked at the lightening sky, ‘Half an hour.’ 
     ‘What do we do in the meantime?’ asked her brother. 
     ‘You wait here.’ she held out her hand. ‘Come, Mungo, I need your help.’ 
     ‘Ædra.’ The King grabbed her arm. ‘Where are you going?’ 
     She smiled and held Mungo’s hand in the dim light. ‘Where else would I go with Mungo the fire-raiser. We are going to start a nice big fire.’ With that, she was gone. 
     Ædred and Galahad looked at each other and then split their forces as arranged, preparing to attack the vast army of ruthless barbarians.


     Aedra tore off the tattered remains of her dress and, in nothing but her thin shift, jumped into the cold waters of the beck. She looked over at Mungo, armed only with a short dagger, as he pulled off his leather shirt and slipped into the water which ran sluggishly toward the Fosse. Creeping forward with heads bowed, the two of them pushed their way through the tall bullrushes and reeds, the mud and slime sucking at their legs. 
     The last stretch was undertaken literally on their bellies as they dragged themselves across the slimy marsh to within a few yards of the Cruithni encampment. Carefully, Ædra raised her head and saw that all was peaceful. A glance towards the east told her that they did not have much time. With hand signals, she directed Mungo northwards from the marsh then slowly rose to her feet, covered neck to toe in thick black slime. 
     Silently, Ædra crept, barefoot, towards the embers of the campfire in the middle of an open area surrounded by the nearest group of tents. Carefully, she picked up the biggest ember and gently blew on the red-hot end until it re-ignited. Stepping to the first tent, she listened carefully and heard only snores as she placed the ember to the parched, dry cloth until it burst into flames. As fast as her legs could carry her, she then ran around the others and set them all alight. 
     At full speed, Ædra nimbly jumped over armour and bundles on the ground as she set light to tent after tent right down the full length of the encampment. A quick glance at the smoke from the other side of the beck assured her that big Mungo had wasted no time either. There was utter pandemonium behind her as men ran in panic from their blazing tents, but she didn’t stop to watch. She was only half way along the line and if they caught her now... 
     The faint thunder of hooves in the distance brought a smile to her lips. Ædred was attacking while the Picts were in distress. Turning for a second to try to see her brother’s cavalry charge, she collided, head on, into a massive Cruithni warrior who threw his great arms around her in a massive bear hug. 
     Ædra cried out as she felt her ribs cracking. The man squeezed and laughed aloud as he continued to crush the life out of her. She could not breathe as his arms tightened and her head began to swim. Just before she reached the point of losing consciousness,, she remembered the fire brand in her hand and thrust it into the only place her trapped arms would allow her to reach. 
     The warrior’s eyes opened wide and his arms relaxed as he let out a mighty bellow and his hands dropped to his smouldering crotch. He sat down backwards on the hard ground and began to whimper like a child. Ædra almost felt sorry for him until she remembered that brief sight of Hulda’s body stretched across the altar, her eyes and mouth wide open in her last throes of searing agony from whatever disgusting torture they were inflicting between her legs. She took a deep breath and rammed the torch into his face. 
     A sound behind her made her turn like a panther. An archer stepped from his tent not four paces from her and drew back his bowstring, the arrow pointing directly at her heart. 
     Ædra closed her eyes. 
     There was a grunt followed by a gurgling as the archer fell to his knees, his hands to his throat which felt as if it was being crushed by a mighty force. Ædra snatched up the bow and bag full off arrows from where they had fallen as his eyes met hers, pleading for a quick death. She paused only for a second before her long bare leg came up like a whiplash and the sound of his neck breaking could be clearly heard around the small cluster of tents. 
     As quickly as she could, Ædra torched the rest of the tents and then ran on to the next group. She was running out of time as the noise was now waking the army before she could reach the tents to start the fires and warriors were emerging all around her. Men grabbed at her lithe form but she nimbly dodged between them in their half-asleep condition. One caught a grip on her shift and tore it almost completely from her, but her own modesty was the last thing on her mind. She could face them all naked as far as she was concerned. 
     Inevitably, it had to happen. In the centre of the last group of tents, she was caught. Standing by the fire, she looked around wildly as a dozen men encircled her. The bow slipped from her shoulders as she backed towards the fire, dropping her now useless firebrand. Her heel caught on a stone jar and she almost tripped as the liquid splashed onto the hot embers and flared briefly. 
     Her heart leapt at the sight and, without hesitation, she tipped the handful of arrows into the strange, amber liquid. It smelt oddly pungent and she shuddered at the strange odour before plunging the tips of the arrows into the fire. Picking up the first burning arrow, she fitted it to the bow and aimed. The men stopped, unable to believe the evidence of their eyes, as Ædra ignored them completely and shot the arrow at the nearest tent which burst into flames. As fast as her arms could work, she fired arrow after burning arrow and the whole camp was ablaze before they caught her, dragged the bow from her hands and threw her to the ground. Ædra squirmed in the dust with four of them trying to pin her arms and legs as others gathered around to watch, her long legs filthy but tantalising, what was left of her shift hanging around her slim waist as they tried to tear it off completely, her torso from neck to pubis stark white in contrast to her face, arms and legs, her golden hair matted with blood and black slime. 
     ‘So, my beauty,’ bellowed one as they finally got a hold on her. He started to undo his broad leather belt. ‘You would come into our camp to destroy us, would you?’ 
     It was not difficult to foresee their intent. Either they were all going to rape her, or he was going to use the leather strap on the most sensitive parts of her anatomy. Or both. 
     ‘If you touch me I will kill you,’ she said through clenched teeth. 
     They guffawed as the twelve strapping warriors looked down upon the helpless young girl on the ground before them. They seemed to ignore the burning tents and screaming comrades around them as they ogled her near naked form and dreamed dreams that were not especially chaste in nature. 
     Had they been highly moral in character, they wouldn’t have been there in the first place, of course. They certainly would not have let their lustful desire prevent them becoming aware of the group of riders approaching quietly from outside the circle of smouldering tents. Ædra’s eyes caught the movement and a smile came to her lips as she relaxed. Instead of struggling, she now lay in their midst and their eyes nearly popped from their heads at the blatant invitation. 
     They were struck down by the horsemen before they could move their eyes from the sight which had bewitched them totally and paralysed their defensive action. A horse reined in at Ædra’s side and an arm reached down to her. She smiled up at the face above her as Ædred’s head shook slowly. Ædra ignored her brother’s scolding look as she leapt up onto his horse, behind him. 
     ‘You, young lady,’ he said, ‘Are going to come unstuck one of these days. You know that?’ 
     ‘Not while I’ve got you to protect me,’ she replied, slipping her arms around his waist from behind. 
     ‘I’m not taking you into the city dressed like that,’ he insisted, taking off his own chemise. She laughed and slipped it over her head as they rode towards the city gate.


     There were Picts lying everywhere, caught totally by surprise and cut down as they had panicked from the fires Ædra and Mungo had started. Some had fled in terror and had drowned as they had attempted to cross the river. As the twins rode from the camp, one warrior opened his eye slowly and watched them depart. When he deemed himself to be safe, he crept on his belly to the river, dragging his mutilated arm and bleeding body with him. The Eause was cold but soothing as he slipped into the water and hung onto a log with his good arm. An hour later, he was pulled from the river by his colleagues on the far bank and he insisted, despite his dreadful wounds, on being taken straight to Borin’s tent on the west side of the city.


     The city welcomed the heroes with open arms and loud cheers while women greeted the men with kisses and flowers. The war was not yet over but one battle had been fought and won for right. Queen Carra rushed from the old Roman castle and helped Ædra from the back of her husband’s horse. 
     ‘You, my girl, are filthy,’ she pronounced. ‘I’ll bet the Picts ran away just at the sight of you coming out of the marshes looking like that.’ 
     Ædra smiled sheepishly as her friend led her to their quarters. Servants brought water and she relaxed as the Queen dismissed them and gently cleaned up Ædra herself. 
     ‘Now we must find some suitable clothes for you,’ Carra said eventually. ‘None of mine will fit you, I’m too fat.’ She patted her belly. 
     ‘Not again?’ said Ædra, shaking her head. 
     ‘Of course,’ said Carra with a smile. ‘Another prince or princess is soon to bite the dust.’


     Aedred greeted Galahad warmly as he rode with his men through the east gate. They looked weary from the battle. 
     ‘We lost ten men,’ Galahad admitted. ‘If it had not been for Mungo, we would all have been finished.’ 
     ‘Is he...?’ The King asked, fearing the worst. 
     Galahad shook his head slowly. ‘It took a dozen of them to bring him down, but even brave Mungo could not live forever.’ 
     Ædred put his hand on Galahad’s arm. ‘Don’t tell Ædra yet.’ 
     Galahad nodded and dropped from his horse. ‘I must go out again after something to eat. The Cruithni must not be allowed to cross the Fosse until we have made further plans. We may need to evacuate to the east.’ 
     ‘You are right, my friend,’ replied the King. ‘Eat first, then go. I must meet with their leader to try to come to a peaceful settlement.’ 
     ‘They look intent on murder, Ædred. I doubt they will be content with an handful of gold.’ 
     ‘So do I. But I must try, for the people’s sake.’


     The sun was high in the sky as Ædred rode out alone to meet the Cruithni King on the Carrs between the Eause and Hob Moor. Riding into the camp, he dismounted before Borin’s tent and confronted him. 
     ‘I am Ædred of Deira,’ he announced. ‘Why do you attack our peaceful city?’ 
     ‘For plunder, why else?’ replied the Pict. ‘I am Borin of Odin’s Burgh.’ 
     ‘Well, my Lord Borin. You will find that we are not as defenceless as you found the people of Iarum and the villages to the north. We can hold out here indefinitely.’ 
     ‘Not against my men,’ Borin boasted. ‘Surrender now and I will deal with you mercifully. My men will merely rape the women a few times and plunder a little, and honour will be satisfied.’ 
     ‘The women of Ebor will not be raped, my Lord Borin. I forbid it.’ 
     ‘Ah, so the boot is on the other foot, now, is it? You Anglisc come to our island, rape and pillage freely and then you criticise the glorious Cruithni for doing the same. Such is the hypocrisy of you people.’ 
     Ædred forced himself to stay calm. ‘My Lord Borin, I am only half-Anglisc. The other half is pure Cymbric and I swear to you that I have raped no-one in my whole life and neither have my men, who are mainly Britons, anyway.’ 
     ‘Yes. The pathetic Brigantes.’ 
     ‘Not so pathetic this morning, were they? Less than a hundred of them defeated over a thousand of your best warriors. I suggest you rethink your tactics.’ 
     ‘A lucky fluke,’ the Pict replied. ‘You tricked us and caught us unawares. It will not happen again. If we storm your city, you will not stand a chance.’ 
     ‘The walls of the city are thick, My Lord, and the river deep. You will lose many men in the process.’ 
     ‘It will be worth it.’ 
     ‘Would it not be more sensible for us to reach a peaceful compromise?’ 
     ‘What would you offer?’ 
     ‘I would offer gold and produce.’ 
     ‘Not good enough! I want slaves.’ 
     ‘The people of Ebor will not become slaves,’ Ædred insisted. ‘They are free and will remain such as long as I am King.’ 
     ‘That may not be for much longer, my friend,’ Borin said with a sneer. 
     ‘Perhaps not. Only God knows what the outcome will be.’ 
     ‘You and your God. He did not protect Iarum, did he? Nor Hexham nor Jarrow before it? He is powerless to prevent you all being slaughtered here, in Ebor.’ 
     ‘If you will not accept gold and produce, what will you accept?’ 
     He smiled broadly. ‘I want the woman.’ 
     Ædred felt his heart tighten. ‘Wh...what woman?’ 
     ‘The woman with the head of gold and the breasts of milk and honey.’ 
     ‘What do you know of this woman?’ Ædred asked with a lump in his throat. 
     ‘She is a woman of spirit. It has been reported to me that she has the power of ten men and the beauty of Artemis.’ 
     ‘Why do you want this woman?’ he was thick enough to ask. 
     ‘To be my queen. I offer you clemency for the woman.’ 
     ‘The woman of which you speak is not available to you nor anyone else.’ 
     Borin sneered. ‘Tomorrow, I will destroy this city, take her away with me and kill you all. Instead of becoming my queen, she will become my slave to be used as I wish and as often as I wish. Is that what you want?’ 
     ‘The woman that you speak of is my sister and a royal princess of the house of King Arthur. You cannot insult the nation by such an action.’ 
     ‘Then let her become my queen. When she bares my son, it will ensure a permanent peace between our two great kingdoms. Think of that, my friend. What is one mere girl’s honour worth when compared with that? Sell her to me in return for your lives.’ 
     ‘I will do nothing without the consent of the Princess.’ 
     ‘Then consult away. If she is here, before me, by sunset, I will take her and leave. If not, I will enjoy carrying out the alternative. The choice is yours.’


     Aedred rode back to the city with his head hung low. Borin was right, the city could not hold out more than a few days at the most. Borin’s army obviously consisted of many thousands of well-armed and well-supplied warriors. However, Ædra was not going to become this barbarian’s plaything. Nevertheless, Ædra and Carra listened attentively as he related his conversation with the Cruithni leader. 
     ‘I do not trust him,’ said the King. ‘I believe that he will break his word and attack the city regardless.’ 
     ‘It is the chance we must take, my brother. I will go to him at sunset.’ 
     Carra was horrified. ‘Ædra, you can’t. I’ve seen these people before. Father used to tell me many tales of how they treat their women as slaves and then kill them when they have had their pleasure. That evil man’s father got fed up with his first wife when she could not satisfy his perverted sexual appetite, so he had her cooked alive and then ate her in front of the whole tribe. No woman ever dared to refuse him after that.’ 
     ‘For the sake of the people of Ebor, I must try,’ insisted Ædra. She looked at her brother and took his hand in her own. ‘Come out with me tonight. If they renege on their word, we will be together with the power.’ 
     ‘You and I will be killed.’ 
     ‘Either way, I’m sure that we will destroy a good many of them before they kill us and we will have saved the city, won’t we? It will have been worth it.’ 
     Ædred’s head drooped. ‘I suppose so.’ 
     ‘Then I will go to the dressmaker now and he will make me a royal toga in which to greet the great Borin.’ 
     Carra accompanied her sister-in-law to the dressmaker who selected the finest white silk and a wide sash of purple to compliment her partly-tanned skin. Carra rolled her hair into ringlets and fastened it with pins and inserted a large gardenia. Her smooth skin was massaged with fragrant oil and the finishing touch was the golden torc around her neck. 
     ‘Ædred,’ she said as they prepared to leave the city. ‘Please don’t tell Galahad until I am far away.’ 
     Her brother nodded with understanding and Ædra turned to Carra with a kiss. She gently wiper the tears from her friend‘s cheeks with her fingertips. ‘Tell Galahad that I will love him forever and then give him this.’ She handed Carra a piece of the golden sun. 
     Carra was puzzled as she looked down at the lock of Ædra’s hair in her hand. 
     Ædra smiled. ‘Tell him it is a poor substitute but his honour can now be satisfied.’ 
     Carra nodded with tears still in her eyes as, with head high, Princess Ædra of Camelot rode out to the Cruithni encampment. 

SIX


     A guard was kept along the city walls all night but, as the sun rose over the Norsey, the people of Ebor saw that Borin had kept his word and the carrs were deserted. Small columns of smoke rose from where their campfires had been, but of the Cruithni there was no sign. Great parties where held in the town and people, oblivious to the sacrifice which had been made, danced in the streets to celebrate the freedom they had won. Only two people did not join in the festivities. One sat, his head in his hands, looking northward out of the Multangular Tower, the other went about her daily duties utterly distraught and constantly in tears. Thousands of lives had been saved but the pain went very deep. Several times, Ædred got up to summon the army but then remembered his sister’s last words and resigned himself again. 
     Galahad returned from patrolling the Fosse by mid morning, surprised there had been no attempt by the Picts to cross the river. When Ædred had explained, it had all become very clear. He sat in silence as the facts sunk home and Carra placed her brown arms around his shoulders, her head on his neck. After a while, she drew back her face and held out her hand to him. He looked down and saw what it contained and found that he, a knight, could no longer hold back the tears himself. Carra looked enquiringly at the King who nodded and left them together. Carra carefully sat on Galahad’s knee and held him tight until they fell asleep together.

     Aedra was saddened at the extent of the devastation as they rode slowly northward along Dere Street. She hoped that Galahad would not do something stupid like trying to rescue her. She had been pleasantly surprised when she had arrived at the Cruithni encampment and found that Borin had shaved and dressed in clean clothes. He was not her type at all but she could not fail to be impressed by the trouble he had obviously gone to in an attempt to win her over. Perhaps he would keep his word and spare Deira after all. 
     Borin had arranged a cart for her and had filled it with presents of all kinds, promising fidelity and honour to her when she became his wife and queen at Scone. Hoping to gain her complete co-operation, he had offered her anything within his power. 
     Ædra had considered for a moment and then had asked for gold to be sent to Iarum so that the town could be rebuilt, and she also asked that her maid should be brought, without harm, to her. Borin agreed to both and sent ten men with an enormous chest full of gold to Iarum with strict instructions that the young maid should be brought to Ædra intact. Ædra did not know where he might have stolen the gold from, but it would be needed at Iarum. Two days later, as they stopped to rest near the River Weare, the men arrived back with the tearful MÆve who had escaped the attack on Iarum by hiding in the rushes of the Teas below Eccles Cliff. 
     A week later, as the convoy crossed the Vallum at the fort called Hunnum, they started to climb into the foothills of the Cheviot and Ædra insisted, to the dismay of those entrusted with looking after her, on walking alongside her carriage and talking with the many men in convoy. Such a thing was not done but, by the time they had reached Bremenium above the Rede Valley, she knew dozens of them by name and they came to have a great deal of respect for the young woman who was soon to become their queen. 
     She would sit with them, cross legged, as they ate. MÆve was always at her side as she spoke of her God and of Camelot. Many of these hardened soldiers had never been outside Caledonia except to pillage south of the Vallum, or west into the islands of the Scots and they could not fail to be impressed by her vast knowledge and wisdom. Most were also impressed by her great beauty, but none dare approach nor offend their leader’s bride-to-be. 
     It was into May by the time they entered the southern end of Leaderdale at Creagsfordd and began to climb into the Lammermuir Hills. Ædra was fascinated, she had never been so high in all her life and could see for miles in virtually every direction. Eagles circled as the convoy gradually dissipated, warriors of various tribes heading for their traditional homes in the nearby hills and valleys. 
     It was a group of about seven thousand which eventually trooped down the Æsc valley and into the small town surrounding a great volcanic plug that was Odin’s Burgh. Here was Borin’s home and Ædra was introduced to the court and family and they stayed there for almost a month. 
     During both the treck and her stay at Odin’s Burgh, Borin had never approached her alone. The marriage was to be very important, prestigiously, to him and was to take place in July at the Pictish capital. There, they would wed and she would become Queen Ædra of Caledonia. 
     The Picts were not all barbarians, it transpired. They had a deep respect for art and Borin proudly displayed magnificent paintings and carved buildings to Ædra as she was shown around the city where she would spend the rest of her life. 
     There was only one unpleasant incident. One of the tribal princes absconded with young Maeve one night and attempted to rape her in his rooms. Ædra noticed her absence and searched the castle high and low, finally catching him in the process of abusing her maid. 
     Charging into the room, Ædra physically dragged the man off the naked Maeve by the hair and would have killed him herself but for the intervention of Borin and the guards. 
     It was the next day before the girls found that Borin had sentenced the prince to be dismembered alive and the parts of his body nailed up around the city to deter others. It was a relief in a sense, but it did serve to remind Ædra of the kind of barbarism which was still rife and that had terrified even the Romans just that short time ago. 
     Sir Galahad did not return to Camelot. Eventually, with the kindness of King Ædred and the deep love of Queen Carra, he had accepted the inevitable and decided that he would do what Ædra would want him to do. He returned to Iarum and took oversight of the rebuilding of the town. Over the weeks that followed, he gained the trust and respect of the remaining people as Ædra had done before him, but they had to ask “why?” of themselves, very often. He rebuilt Ædra’s house, put the roof back on the church at Eccles Cliff and the little congregation began to grow out of the ashes of death. 
     It was early June before he saw it. 
     He had taken to reading the Book to himself and others who would listen and, one evening, he was reading as his eyes grew tired and the page fell open to the flyleaf and he read the inscription for the first time. His eyes grew wide with a sudden understanding of all that had happened since he had come to Britannia as he read and thought about the implications late into the night. As the sun rose over Round Hill, he knew what he had to do.


     Midsummer’s day approached and the royal chariot was prepared for Ædra and MÆve to go to Scone for the ritual marriage and crowning. They went by ferry across the wide estuary of the River Fordd and Ædra saw the great sandbars reminiscent of the Teas Estuary. A fine carriage met them on the far side and took them past the great Loch Leven and into Glen Fargg. A week before the day for the wedding, they were in the capital, Scone.


     The lone rider who crossed the Cheviot posed no threat to the Picts camped near the Vallum. He was in the dress of a peasant and was not even worth trying to rob. His tatty leather trousers barely reached his thonged boots and his yellow shirt was open, his fair hair blowing in the wind. In his saddle bag was a single item. A Book.


     It had taken a long time, but MÆve finally had to reach the conclusion that her mistress was really going through with the wedding. She had pleaded not to be sent away and Ædra had gained the solemn promise of Borin that she could stay on as Maid of Honour after the wedding. The other Maids of Honour were to be Borin’s younger sister, Toreal, and his niece, Princess Roxana of Dunebar. 
     When provided with the full details of the ceremony one morning, she had leapt out of bed, still in her shift, and run through the palace and confronted Borin at breakfast. Borin dismissed the servants and stared back at Ædra who was furious. 
     ‘I will not consent to this,’ she threw at him, slamming the paper in front of him. 
     ‘But it is traditional.’ 
     ‘Then change it,’ she demanded. ‘I am not going to have,’ she read. ‘1) Ten virgins sacrificed and eaten by the priests and royal party. 2) A dozen prisoners taken at random from the prison and dismembered alive. 3) The Maids of Honour taken by the Bridegroom prior to consummation of the royal marriage. You are talking of your own sister and eight-year-old niece as well as my MÆve. I will not allow it.’ 
     Borin was thunderstruck. He knew the girl had spirit, that is what had attracted him to her in the first place. However, she may be a Princess but she must be made to know her place. 
     ‘How dare you come in here with your demands,’ he bellowed and servants outside cringed at what might happen. ‘These are the long-standing traditions of the Cruithni you are flaunting. They have been faithfully carried out for centuries. Be grateful that I have only chosen three Maids of Honour and that I have removed the first law as a special concession.’ 
     ‘What first law?’ she asked warily. 
     Borin dropped the napkin onto the table, got to his feet and walked over to the row of books along one wall and pulled down a large volume. He dropped it in front of her and opened it. She read where his finger indicated and went very pale indeed as she slowly sat down. ‘Any more nonsense from you and I will have it re-entered.’ 
     ‘You...you wouldn’t.’ She felt sick. 
     ‘I will, if you do not have the proper respect for our traditions. They may not be to your pampered taste but I have risked great shame in the face of the other Princes to have that first clause removed and they are exceedingly angry about it. Be grateful.’ 
     She stood up slowly, her heart heavy. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, gently touching his hairy hand with her long, white fingers. ‘I promise I will never question your decisions again.’ 
     He smiled and patted her bottom playfully. ‘That’s my girl. Now go and get dressed. You are to meet the wise man, Warun, this afternoon.’


     The rider dropped down to the river and the ferryman wondered where such a peasant had found enough gold to pay for a crossing to Cullaho.


     It was but a short ride to the place where the old soothsayer lived and Borin held her hand as she stepped down from the carriage, a translucent veil over her face. They walked up the steps together to rehearse the exact details of the ritual which was to take place the next day. They were ushered into the big hall together, the Maids of Honour following behind. Toreal wore a long gown in pale blue wool and Roxana, a short dress in pink. MÆve, the eldest at fifteen, stood erect in her long white dress with polished gold buttons and with her dark hair shining. Ædra wondered if she yet knew what was to happen to her before her own consummation. Toreal and Roxana presumably did but neither girl looked worried. 
     They stood silently until the wise man appeared before them theatrically in a cloud of red smoke which nearly made Ædra laugh. 
     ‘Greetings, Borin and Ædra,’ he said. ‘I understand that you both know what is expected of you tomorrow?’ They both nodded but Warun insisted on going through certain parts again for Ædra’s benefit. At last, rehearsals were over and they all relaxed.
     Warun smiled. ’Well, you all seem ready.’ 
     Ædra slowly lifted her veil and looked straight at the priest. She was totally unprepared for the effect of that simple action. His eyes grew wide open and he began to choke. Borin jumped forward and caught him as he fell and, between them, they dragged him to a couch and he lay, a deathly shade of grey, as Ædra sent MÆve for water. He could not speak but, after taking a drink, he eventually indicated to Borin that he wished to be alone with him. The girls waited in the anteroom. He finally managed to blurt out the words he was trying to form. 
     ‘Do you know who she is?’ he whispered, his whole body trembling. 
     Borin shrugged. ‘Why, Princess Ædra from Ebor, of course.’ 
     ‘Then you don’t know of the power?’ 
     ‘The Power?’ asked Borin, suddenly suspicious. 
     ‘She is of King Arthur’s brood,’ he said after nearly choking to death. 
     Not realising the full implication, Borin asked; ‘So?’ 
     ‘Do you yet not know who she is?’ 
     ‘I don’t know what you mean.’ 
     ‘She is the one who killed your father.’ 
     Borin’s heart skipped a beat and he got up and looked through the doorway at the eighteen-year-old woman laughing with the Maids of Honour. 
     He returned to Warun’s side. ‘I cannot believe that.’ 
     Warun clutched his arm. ‘Borin, believe it.’ 
     ‘I think that you had better tell me about it.’ 
     ‘Nearly four years ago, your father went south to raid along the Teas, do you remember?’ 
     ‘How can I forget? I was just seventeen and father said I was too young and made me stay to look after mother. I was very upset.’ 
     ‘My son, if you had been there, you would not be alive today.’ 
     ‘Tell me,’ Borin instructed the old man. 
     ‘We tried to cross the Teas at Morbium but the Brigantes got warning of our approach and fortified the defenses and our main force was held up. Your father had a choice, he could go west and cross at Greta Bridge or go east and cross at Denusdael or Iarum.’ 
     ‘Go on.’ He was now very interested. 
     ‘When we got to the Roman Road at Denusdael, we found that there had been recent flooding and the river was running too fast. That only left Iarum where, at least, the river was narrow. It was late, so we camped for the night near Newsham, on a bend of the river just a few miles west of Iarum. That’s when I first saw her.’ 
     ‘You saw Princess Ædra?’ 
     ‘Yes. She came to our camp.’ 
     ‘That girl walked into a Cruithni camp? Alone?’ 
     Warun shook his head. ‘No, not alone. She had an Anglisc Warrior with her and a Roman General.’ 
     ‘Her brother, the King of Ebor would be the Anglisc one. The Roman must have been the one who held out at Iarum this time. Why did they come to your camp?’ 
     ‘To warn us.’ 
     Borin could hardly contain his disbelief. ‘Two men and a girl came to warn eight thousand Cruithni warriors?’ 
     ‘Oh, yes. Borin. I only wish that we had heeded her warning.’ 
     Borin swallowed. ‘You do?’ 
     ‘Only two thousand returned, remember.’ 
     ‘But there was a great battle, we killed many of their troops.’ 
     ‘Borin, we killed no-one.’ 
     ‘No-one?’ 
     ‘Not one of their people were killed and we lost nearly six thousand of our best warriors.’ 
     ‘How could that happen?’ 
     He pointed a trembling finger in the direction of the doorway. ‘That witch killed them.’ 
     ‘Witch?’ Borin’s face went dark. 
     ‘She confronted your father in his own tent. We were just cooking a few local children and she was totally unmoved by the sight. That is not natural.’ 
     ‘Perhaps she didn’t see them?’ 
     ‘You know your father, Borin. He took great delight in cutting off a portion and offering it to her. She refused, of course.’ 
     ‘And then?’ 
     ‘They left.’ 
     ‘My father allowed them to leave? Did no-one stop them?’ 
     ‘We tried.’ 
     ‘And you failed? With a slip of a girl that could have been no more than fourteen or fifteen at the time?’ 
     ‘She paralysed us.’ 
     Borin could take no more and roared with laughter. ‘This would make a good comedy play,’ he said, wiping the tears from his eyes. 
     ‘Do not mock, My Lord. I am deadly serious.’ 
     ‘How could she paralyse you?’ 
     ‘Your father said that he would prevent her leaving. Do you know what she said?’ 
     ‘Tell me.’ 
     ‘She smiled at him and said in a voice like a young child; “Try to stop me.” Your father was furious and tried to get up when she just looked at him and a great force gripped him by the throat and started to crush his windpipe.’ 
     ‘Indigestion?’ 
     ‘You didn’t see the bruising afterwards.’ 
     ‘Couldn’t you help him?’ 
     ‘We tried, believe me. I can only speak for myself when I say that I suddenly went very cold and a freezing hand ran up my spine and I could not move. I have seen a lot of things and have been to a lot of places, but I have never felt such stark terror before.’ 
     Borin could not prevent a smile. ‘Your imagination was playing tricks.’ 
     ‘You remember Glamid?’ 
     ‘Glamid the Deadly? Of course. He feared no-one. They tell me he died fighting twenty Brigantes.’ 
     ‘They lied. He, too was there, and also paralysed. All the rest of the night, he was sick and, the next day, he simply curled up and died. Borin, do you understand me? Glamid was literally frightened to death.’ 
     ‘Is that how my father died?’ 
     ‘No, she took delight in sparing your father and promised that she would watch him die the next day.’ 
     ‘He survived that night?’ 
     ‘Your father was stubborn, Borin. Despite the fact that more than half his army had panicked and run, he insisted on attacking Iarum.’ 
     ‘Across the river?’ 
     ‘Yes.’ 
     ‘And the girl?’ 
     ‘Stood, unarmed, in the middle of the road and defied our attack by chariots with scythes.’ 
     ‘How?’ 
     ‘With her power, she overturned the chariots.’ 
     ‘In the river?’ 
     ‘In the river. Your father was trapped under the leading chariot.’ 
     ‘Then what happened?’ 
     ‘She sat down.’ 
     Borin swallowed. ‘S..sat down?’ 
     ‘Yes. She simply sat down on the river bank and smiled at him. Then she commanded the waters of the river to rise.’ 
     ‘Now you really are pulling my leg.’ 
     Warun said nothing. 
     ‘You are joking, of course?’ 
     Warun still said nothing. 
     ‘That girl controls the elements?’ he whispered. 
     Warun simply nodded. 
     ‘And my father died there?’ 
     ‘She sat and watched as the waters slowly drowned him as she said she would.’ 
     ‘Did no-one try to help him?’ 
     ‘Fifty men died in the attempt. When they tried to rescue your father, she commanded stones to fall from the sky and they were all killed instantly.’ 
     It was Borin’s turn to say nothing. 
     ‘She has not come here to marry you, Borin. She has come here for revenge.’ 
     ‘Revenge?’ 
     Warun nodded. ‘It is the revenge of King Arthur’s brood. She has come to destroy us all. How many did you kill at Iarum this last time?’ 
     He shrugged. ‘I don’t know, a dozen, two dozen. Most of them hid in the maidun and we didn’t have the time to whittle them out.’ 
     ‘Do you remember who, in particular, was killed?’ 
     ‘A few peasants we caught along the road. The churchman...’ 
     Warun gasped. ‘You killed the Churchman?’ 
     ‘Of course. And his wife.’ He laughed. 
     ‘But the churchman would be sacred to her.’ 
     ‘They would not leave the church. The woman stood there and forbade us to enter.’ 
     ‘You killed her?’ Warun whispered. 
     Borin smiled. ‘Eventually. We tied her across the altar. She was very good looking and survived the rape of eighty-two of my best men before she died.’ 
     ‘Does Princess Ædra know of these deaths?’ 
     ‘I expect so. She came to Ebor from Iarum.’ 
     ‘So she will know precisely what you and your men have done to the churchman and his family?’ 
     ‘Yes. They tell me that the woman was very good.’ Borin shrugged. ‘The daughter didn’t last long, though. She was just a child.’ 
     ‘Borin, you are an animal. Did you bury the bodies?’ 
     ‘There was not time. We left them lying where they died.’ 
     ‘The child?’ 
     ‘Left lying in the street, as far as I recall. None of the men wanted her blood on their hands. There was a lot of it from such a small child.’ 
     Warun placed his head in his hands. ‘We are doomed. She will kill us all.’ 
     Borin moved closer. ‘What can we do?’ 
     ‘One thing is certain. You cannot wed her. We must find a way to dispose of her before she takes her revenge upon us.’ 
     ‘How?’ 
     ‘Well, we cannot simply confront her. She will strike us all down. We must find a way to drug her and, while she sleeps, cut out her heart. To kill a witch, you must totally disembowel and dismember her.’ 
     ‘When?’ 
     ‘Tonight,’ said the old man. ‘She will be biding her time, waiting to receive the kingdom before she acts.’ 
     ‘Then we must do something right away.’ 
     ‘Borin, believe me. If she is still alive in the morning, we are all doomed.’


     Darkness was falling as the stranger rode into Scone. No-one took particular notice of him as he rode towards the royal palace. He was tired and needed rest. In the morning, he would start to look for his Ædra. With what he knew, he would be just in time to save her from a fate worse than death. 

SEVEN


     Mæve instinctively knew that something was terribly wrong. She did not know what it was nor why, but she saw Ædra safely into the large bed and then stayed with her instead of going to her own room. Princess Toreal had explained the terms of the wedding to her and she had felt unhappy about personally having to undergo the traditional ritual with the bridegroom before the marriage itself could be consummated. However, if the other Maids of Honour, Toreal and Roxana, who were both younger than she was, were willing to endure the pain and humiliation, so was she. After all the kindness Ædra had shown to her, she would die for her mistress, if need be. 
     Looking out of the open window, she saw the roofs of the capital city of Caledonia which seemed so peaceful as the last lights winked out and the moon slowly rose over the Sidlaw Hills. It was still very close as she pulled back the sheets from Ædra’s sleeping form and walked around the room in the semi-darkness, swishing the loose nightdress about her body in a vain attempt to try to keep cool. It was then that she heard the sound of voices in the passageway outside. 
     She remembered what Toreal had also told her about the first law of marriage of a Cruithni Ruler. The bride-to-be must be used by the other Princes prior to the wedding ceremony to ensure that she was suitable as a queen. She shuddered at the disgusting thought and was thankful that Ædra would not have to go through that ordeal. What she could not understand was, if the law had genuinely been overruled by Borin, then why was this group of men approaching the Princess’s room now? 
     MÆve tiptoed to the door and pressed her ear tightly to the panel. She did not understand the words which were being spoken but the tone of the voices told her that they meant her Princess no good. She glanced towards Ædra and a sudden dread overcame her. 
     Like a flash of lightning, she flew to the bed and shook Ædra but she would not wake. The situation suddenly dawned on her. Borin had gone back on his word and had drugged her, and the other Princes were now coming to claim their traditional right and to take her and use her while she slept. With the kind of strength that only comes from sheer desperation, she dragged Ædra’s limp form off the bed and onto the floor. As quietly as she could, she rolled her under the bed and jumped into bed herself. It was going to be horrible. She would suffer great pain but she would gladly bear it to save the Princess having to suffer such a degrading humiliation. 
     There was not a second that passed before there was a faint creak as the door began to open slowly and she heard the sound of footsteps creeping towards the bed. Through her half-closed eyelids, she counted six men and had to work very hard in order to force her body to stay still as the shadowy forms moved towards her.

     Galahad got up early and headed for the palace where he knew his Ædra would be. He dusted off the Book and entered the palace, asking for Lord Borin. The man in question arrived and looked puzzled at the stranger before him. 
     His emotions were not yet settled. He had set his heart on marrying Princess Ædra and had even been willing to make special concessions to keep her happy but, after the news from Warun, he had had no alternative but to give permission for her to be disembowelled and dismembered into the smallest possible parts to ensure that she could not survive to steal away his kingdom. He also knew that he would never be able to enter that bedroom again. The mess will have been appaling. The six men he had sent to do the deed had now left with the many pieces of her body in a dripping sack and now, at least, he knew they were safe from the revenge of King Arthur’s Brood. 
     ‘And what brings you to Scone, stranger?’ he greeted with mixed feelings as Warun also entered and stood beside him. 
     ‘My Lords, I am Galahad of Camelot. I come with information concerning the Princess Ædra.’ 
     A lump came to Borin’s throat as he glanced at the soothsayer. Did this stranger already know what they had done? 
     He was trying to form the right words when Warun interrupted. ‘I am afraid that the Princess is not available at the moment.’ 
     ‘No matter,’ said Galahad, perhaps a little disappointed. ‘I did not come to see the Princess. Only to give you information concerning her.’ 
     ‘What kind of information?’ Borin asked warily. 
     ‘Information as to what will happen if anything untoward should befall her.’ 
     ‘Did you come here to threaten us, young man?’ asked Warun angrily. 
     ‘Certainly not, My Lord,’ Galahad soothed. ‘I believe you to be honourable men who will care for the Princess and treat her well. I just feel that you ought to know about her inheritance.’ 
     ‘Her inheritance?’ 
     ‘Yes, My Lord,’ Galahad smiled. ‘If I might just show you her Book. She left it behind and I have come to return it to her.’ 
     ‘Is it a Christian Bible?’ 
     ‘Yes, My Lord. A Bible with inscriptions.’ Galahad opened the Book. 
     ‘I cannot read Latin,’ admitted Borin. 
     ‘Then I will read it for you,’ Galahad offered. ‘The first inscription is from the one who gave her the Book, a holy man from Gaul. The next is from the Cardinal of Rome who, last year, made Ædra a Saint.’ 
     ‘A Saint?’ Good grief, he thought, we’ve murdered a Christian Saint. 
     ‘Then there are the pledges to Ædra. I quote, “Queen of all Britannia and Gaul”, from the tribal Kings. Here they are listed, My Lords. You see Gann of Camelot, the Knights of the Round Table, Igor of Brycgstow, Ædred of Deira,’ he’d added his own family, ‘Du Lac of Gaul. I guess that makes an army of around two hundred thousand troops which could be raised in her defence. That is worth knowing, isn’t it?’ 
     Borin felt sick as a great pit opened where his stomach should have been.


     Aedra stirred, but her brain would not concentrate properly. Still groggy from the drug she had been given, she tried to rise and banged her head. What on earth was she doing under the bed? She rolled out slowly and put her hand on to something sticky on the floor. She looked at her hand. Blood! 
     Ædra sat up and looked over her body. She was not bleeding so she slowly got to her feet and sat on the edge of her bed. While reaching for her gown, she also saw the blood on the bed. Her clean hand went to her face. Lots of it, all soaked into the sheets and mattress and all over the floor. 
     What had been happening here? Some kind of pagan ritual with chickens? 
     Furious, she stepped out of her nightdress and slipped on her about-house shift. Picking up her leather shoes, she walked barefoot to MÆve’s room and knocked. Getting no answer, she opened the door and looked inside. 
     That’s odd, she thought, her bed hasn’t been slept in. Perhaps Borin decided to take her a night earlier than originally planned. She went to his room. Empty. Still puzzled, she heard several voices downstairs, shrugged, and walked quietly down the stone steps. 
     Galahad saw her first and a smile came to his face. The aged Warun turned towards her and his heart stopped. 
     Borin’s mouth fell open as the soothsayer’s body hit the floor. She walked towards him, still looking angry and he fell to his knees in front of her. 
     ‘You might well look upset, Borin.’ She pointed to him. ‘I know what you’ve been up to.’ 
     His mouth tried to form words but his tongue was not functioning properly. He just gulped instead as he saw, apparently, a ghost from the dead. As the Picts have a greater reverence for the dead than for the living, he was completely in awe and utterly petrified as to what this spirit from the world of the dead was now going to do to him. 
     ‘What have you done with my MÆve?’ she asked, tapping her tough leather shoes onto her other hand. 
     Borin just shook his head and gurgled. 
     Gradually, the significance of the blood, the missing MÆve, Warun’s sudden heart attack and the terrified Borin before her all fell into place in her mind, and she drew herself erect and suddenly lashed out at him with every ounce of her pent-up fury and strength. 
     The hard leather shoe hit him full in the face and the force of her blow shattered his jaw and fractured his skull. He never spoke again after that day. He lived, but not as a man, and eventually died a total imbecile.


     The Cruithni tribal war lords hurried to make their peace with her, and Toreal and Roxana, who were totally appaled at what had happened to MÆve, insisted on becoming slaves to Ædra. Ædra did not have slaves, of course, but they affirmed that they would never leave her service for the rest of their lives. They could not bring back the brave Maid of Honour but they would do everything they could to try to make up for her loss if that were at all possible. 
     ‘I want all the land south of the River Fordd,’ she demanded of the terrified tribal lords who had gathered before her at Scone. 
     They hastily agreed. 
     ‘In that area, from now on, there will be no slavery of any kind and, as of this minute, all existing slaves are free. Do you understand?’ 
     They did. 
     ‘And there will be no more human sacrifices or cannibalism.’ She glared at them, one by one. ‘If I hear of one such case.’ She held up her index finger and glared at them all, ‘Just one, the whole tribe will be annihilated, every man and woman. The children will not be harmed, of course, and will be given to good Christian parents. Over the next six months, I will assign Thegns and Eoldormen and their word will be absolute law, second only to myself.’ 
     ‘Furthermore,’ she continued. ‘Any rebels of any kind will be dealt with swiftly and permanently and if any in this kingdom of Northumbria are not happy with this arrangement, I will give them three months to evacuate their lands. I intend to stamp out this barbarism forever.’ She nearly broke the table as she struck it and they all jumped into the air. 
     She did not stop there. ‘If anyone of you north of the Fordd is so presumptuous as to try to invade my lands, I will come here with my army and systematically destroy and devastate the whole of the land of Caledonia and give it to the Scots.’ She looked round the table at the frightened faces of the elders and princes. ‘Do I make myself quite clear?’


     In their superstition, they were absolutely terrified of her. Galahad tried desperately not to smile as he watched them wither under her spell. Very few families moved northward from her territory and, to them, she became known as Ædra the Terrible. 
     A thousand warriors quickly flocked to her side and she was able to establish a camp on Odin’s Burgh with Eoldorman Gareth in charge. Over the next few months, Galahad and Ædra toured the kingdom and set up jurisdictional districts. Where possible, she used loyal Cymbric princes, Loric at Dunebar, Theodoric at Yeavering and Gwyndor on the western frontier at Vercovicium. South of Dunebar, she established the Anglisc Ida at Berernwyke, Hagarin the Jute at Alnewyke and the Roman, Polimus, agreed to move from Iarum to control the fortress on the banks of the River Tyn at Pons Ælius. The northern part of this kingdom was to be called Berernicia to differentiate it from that of Deira. 
     It was to Ida she gave the instructions to build an impregnable fortress near the coast road at Din Guayrdi overlooking the Faruns - a fortress easily defended and supplied by land or sea - one which was intended to be the hub of the Kingdom of Northumbria. 
     Little did Ædra know at that point in time just how vital a part those few, miles of rocky coastline were going to play in the political and religious future of the whole of Britannia. 

EIGHT


     Ædra’s return to Eborwick was met with considerable jubilation and excitement. Nothing prevented her brother riding out to meet her this time, as she was driven in her carriage to the north gate of the city. 
     She had stopped briefly on her way southward to ensure that all was well in Iarum and to appoint a new churchman, Alyn. Alaric was now thegn and he had done much to deserve the honour following the dastardly attack by the Picts. The town had been rebuilt completely and was flourishing again as a market centre. 
     Somehow, though, it did not seem the same as before. Although there were some familiar faces, there were also a good many strangers and Ædra realised, with regret, that she was losing her contact with these fine people. Soon, she must put the matter right. 
     She was met by many friends at Ebor but the one she will remember most of all was Oswiel, not yet a week old and placed carefully into her arms by the beaming Carra. Tears streamed down her face as she held the tiny scrap in her arms and then held the little girl up to the cheers of the crowd which had followed her from the gate of the city. While Ædra paraded with her new niece, Carra slipped her arm through Galahad’s as they walked towards the castle. 
     ‘Are you two married yet?’ she asked cheekily. 
     Galahad blushed. ‘We really have not had time, Carra. Over the last six months, Ædra has not stopped for a minute. What would normally take any King ten years, she has achieved in just those few months.’ 
     ‘Can she trust those she has left in charge?’ 
     ‘I think so,’ he said. ‘She has made it quite clear that she will crush any rebellion without hesitation and they believe it. She has them eating out of her hand.’ 
     ‘Is she intending to rule the kingdom herself?’ 
     ‘Not my Ædra.’ He smiled. ‘She hates the glory and honours that people keep wanting to give her. Within a year I believe she will appoint one of the eoldormen as supreme ruler in her place.’ 
     ‘Like she did with Gann.’ 
     ‘Exactly. I guess history books of the future will show people like Gann and Ida as rulers when, in truth, they would have been nothing without Ædra.’ 
     ‘Such is life. I don’t suppose she will lose any sleep over it.’ 
     He laughed. ‘I don’t suppose she will.’ 
     ‘Ask her tonight.’ 
     ‘What?’ He stopped and looked at Carra. 
     She swung round in front of him and those big, brown eyes melted his heart. ‘Ask her to marry you tonight.’ 
     ‘I already did that a year ago.’ 
     ‘And?’ she queried as they commenced walking again. 
     ‘She said “yes”’ 
     ‘Then what on earth are you playing at?’ she asked incredulously. ‘Go grab her and whisk her away to Camelot or somewhere and make a woman of her.’ 
     ‘She has things to do.’ 
     ’Stop looking for excuses. She is doing nothing that others cannot do in her place.’ She stepped in front of him. ‘Galahad, my love. I will tell you how to win over Ædra. Do not ask her, tell her.’ She punched him playfully in the chest. ‘It works for me every time.’ 
     ‘Are you sure?’ 
     ‘Galahad, Ædra does not want an assistant, she want a man.’ She held his shirt and pulled him to her in mock devotion. ‘One who will love her and demand things of her. One who will beat her if she misbehaves. That’s what she sees in Ædred. He takes no nonsense from her, does he?’ 
     He laughed. ‘So I’ve noticed.’ 
     ‘Then become like her brother. Tell her that you are going to wed her straight away and if she hesitates, put her over your knee and belt the stuffing out of her.’ 
     ‘I can’t do that.’ 
     ‘Do you love her?’ she asked, fluttering her dark eyelashes at him. 
     ‘Of course,’ he insisted. ‘With all my heart.’ 
     ‘Then do it. Do it tonight.’ She kissed him quickly and ran ahead of him to the castle.

     Taking the bull by the horns, he pushed into her bedroom and she looked up from the bed where she was reading to Roxana and Ælle. 
     ‘Ædra, it is time we were wed,’ he blurted out. 
     Ælle’s mouth dropped open and Roxana began to giggle uncontrollably. Ædra did not know what to say. 
     ‘Very well,’ she eventually said. ‘But there is something that you should know before you commit yourself.’ 
     ‘Ædra, I am already committed. I cannot go back now.’ 
     ‘Come here,’ she said and patted the bed beside her. ‘Are you the only child?’ 
     ‘The only male,’ he replied, sitting beside her. ‘I have a sister who is married to a duke.’ 
     ‘Then the family line of du Lac rests with you for its continuance?’ 
     ‘Naturally.’ 
     ‘Then it is only fair that I warn you that I may not be capable of producing children.’ 
     There was a stunned silence as even Roxana stopped in mid-giggle. 
     ‘What do you mean?’ 
     ‘I mean that I was... hurt once and the healer said that it could affect my prospects of bearing offspring.’ 
     ‘How certain was the diagnosis?’ 
     ‘Galahad, you know as well as I do, what is known about medicine is very limited. I could be perfectly sound but, on the other hand, you could be catching a crab.’ 
     ‘I see.’ He thought for a while then looked at her. ‘I will take that chance. Marry me.’ 
     She looked into his eyes. ‘Yes.’ 
     He kissed her and Roxana started giggling again. 
     ‘Galahad. You may not lose out even if I cannot bear children.’ 
     ‘How do you mean?’ 
     ‘Toreal is a healthy girl, she will bear children for me.’ 
     ‘I am not marrying Toreal, I am marrying you.’ 
     ‘Nevertheless, if all else fails, she will produce a son for us.’ 
     ‘Toreal would not do that.’ 
     Ædra looked at him for a moment then called, ‘Toreal.’ 
     The fourteen-year-old, dark-haired girl appeared. 
     Ædra looked straight at her. ‘Toreal, I want you to kill yourself.’ 
     There was but a second’s hesitation to ensure that she had understood correctly. 
     ‘May I use your dagger, Princess?’ she said quietly . ‘Or would you rather I jumped from the parapet of the castle?’ 
     ‘I rest my case,’ Ædra said to Galahad, 
     ‘But...’ he started. 
     ‘Toreal, said Ædra kindly. ‘Forget what I just said.’ 
     The girl looked puzzled. ‘Are you sure?’ There was not even a hint of relief at being spared. 
     ‘Toreal,’ Ædra asked. ‘Would you bear a child for me?’ 
     ‘Princess, I would bear a hundred children for you.’ 
     Nine-year-old Roxana stood up with a serious look on her face. She was young but knew what it was all about. ‘So would I, Princess Ædra.’ 
     ‘And me,’ said Ælle and they all collapsed, laughing. 
     ‘I give in,’ said Galahad. 
     ‘Is the wedding to be here, in Ebor?’ asked Ædra. 
     Galahad nearly agreed, such was his relief, but he caught himself in time. 
     ‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘We will marry in Poitu.’ 
     She opened her mouth to argue and he frowned. She looked into his eyes. ‘Yes, Sir Galahad. When?’ 
     ‘We will leave tomorrow.’ 
     ‘But...’ 
     ‘We will leave tomorrow.’ 
     ‘Yes, Sir Galahad,’ she said as two young girls and a boy launched themselves at her with a great cheer. 
     ‘Enough, enough,’ she begged. ‘I give in, you can be bridesmaids and page boy.’ 
     She stopped suddenly and got out of bed and curtsied before Galahad. ‘With your permission, Sir Galahad.’ 
     He smiled and took her hand. ‘Yes, Queen Ædra.’


     It seemed like the whole world was at the wedding. Ædred led his sister down the aisle of the Bapistry of St Jean in Poitiers to where Sir Galahad du Lac waited in his best clothes. Toreal and Roxana followed the girl in the long, white satin gown and veil, carrying bunches of wild primroses, Ædra’s favourite flowers. Ælle followed, holding his mother’s hand as waterfalls of joy poured down Carra’s face. Lady Elaine rose to her feet as her daughter-in-law reached her son and smiled her blessing on the young couple for all to see. 
     The service was an unnecessary long one and Ædra vowed to ensure that, in such services in Britannia, the bride’s feet would become less tired with less ritual and pomp. But at last it was over and she now truly was Ædra du Lac, Queen of all Britannia and Gaul.


     The festivities went on for a week at the old castle in Beroic. It was on the last day that Ædra watched the carriage arrive as Roxana and Ælle crowded the window to see as the man in red descended to the ground. Ædra stammered her apologies and ran out of the house. 
     ‘Cardinal Broghanzani,’ she said in flustered greeting. ‘What a pleasant surprise.’ 
     ‘Well, well, my little Princess,’ he said. ‘Let me look at you. My, you are all grown up now, and married, I hear.’ 
     She slipped her arm through his as they walked inside where mouths dropped open and Princes and Ducs fell to their knees in front of him, Galahad and Lady Elaine among them. 
     Ædra looked puzzled. ‘Am I supposed to do that?’ 
     The Cardinal looked at her. ‘Of course not. You are a saint, whereas I am a mere Cardinal.’ 
     ‘A saint?’ gasped Lady Elaine, looking at Ædra. ‘You are a saint?’ 
     The Cardinal came to her rescue. ‘For those not familiar with the Princess‘s true vocation in life, allow me to introduce Sainte Ædra of Iarum.’ He glanced down at the blushing girl and smiled. ‘Except for the Holy Father, she is the only person in Christendom whom I will allow to call me Emilio.’ 
     There was a stunned silence as his words sank in and the Cardinal took her hand and kissed it. ‘I am sorry to have missed your wedding, Ædra. May an old man make up for it by giving you his blessing now?’ 
     She curtsied to him. ‘I am honoured, Your Eminence.’ 
     ‘Emilio,’ he insisted sternly. ‘Now do I get a kiss in return?’ He held out his cheek but Ædra deliberately missed and it was his turn to blush as everyone laughed with relief. 
     Throughout the evening, Ædra introduced all her friends to him and it was some time before he could speak with her alone. 
     ‘Ædra,’ he finally found time to say. ‘I have come here to warn you.’ 
     ‘Warn me? Why?’ 
     ‘There is a plot to have you assassinated.’ 
     Ædra laughed. ‘It is not the first nor, I expect, will it be the last.’ 
     ‘I am serious, Princess. Now that you have all but united the tribes in the north and west of Britannia, the Church sees certain possibilities and intends to cash in on what you have accomplished.’ 
     ‘How could they do that?’ 
     ‘By getting you to enforce Christianity upon the land.’ 
     ‘That I will never do. My people become Christian by choice or not at all.’ 
     He sighed. ‘I was afraid you would say that.’ 
     ‘But you knew that I would, didn’t you?’ 
     ‘Yes, I did. The Church does, too. That is why it must have you killed. They intend to have you excommunicated as a heretic.’ 
     She thought for a moment. ‘That is why you said what you did earlier, wasn’t it? You wanted it publicly known that I had your blessing so that people would rally round and support me.’ 
     ‘I admit that you are correct, Ædra.’ 
     ‘Does the Holy Father know you are here?’ 
     ‘The Holy Father specifically forbade me to come. When I return, I will be dealt with most severely.’ 
     ‘How severely?’ 
     He shrugged. 
     ‘You must not return,’ she said. ‘Come with me to Britannia. They will not find the British as gullible as some others have been. You will organise and run my Church.’ 
     ‘But you have your own people, surely.’ 
     ‘Few as wise as you, and certainly none as loyal.’ 
     ‘It gives me great pleasure to hear you say that.’ 
     ‘Tell me, Emilio. Where are you teaching now?’ 
     ‘I am in Hibernia, Princess. I was sent there in disgrace for trying to help you before.’ 
     ‘There is a great need for a teacher in the North of Britannia, Emilio. If you agree, I want you to find someone you can trust in Hibernia and appoint him to go to Caledonia. I will fund a religious centre there but will leave it to you and he to determine the place.’
     ‘I know of just the man. A priest named Columba.’ 
     ‘Can you trust him to teach the truth? The real truth, I mean.’ 
     ‘Ædra, priest Columba is not noted for toeing the official line of dogma. Why else would he be in a backwater like Hibernia? No, you can trust Columba to speak the truth whether the Church likes it or not.’ 
     ‘Excellent,’ she said. ‘When you have done that, you will do the same in Northumbria.’ 
     ‘But will these Caledonians or Northumbrians allow them to preach?’ 
     ‘They had better,’ she said with a twinkle in her eye.


     They waited until spring before returning to Britannia. The Cardinal had already gone back to Hibernia to try to persuade Columba to join the cause and the Lady Elaine was happy now that her son had married well. Ædred and Carra had sailed to Ebor before winter arrived. Galahad’s plan was for them to visit Camelot en route prior to returning via Brycgstow, Mercea and Ebor. 
     The land journey across Gaul went very well. Ædra and her British group enjoyed very much the countryside as they rode in their carriage across the Loire at Tours and then northward through the Roman town of Le Mans and thence to the port of Rouen where they boarded the boat which was to take them to Camelot. 
     Unfortunately, the weather had other ideas and, as they crossed the channel, they were forced to shelter behind the island called Vectis. 
     The estuary was wide and well sheltered and, had they not been short of fresh water, they would not have stopped at all. They had a choice, the marshy lands to the north, or the cliffs on the island. The decision was made for them when they saw the wide river inlet that was the MÆdina. They were met by men armed with swords and spears. 
     ‘They are Jutes,’ whispered Ædra as they stood on the boat as it neared the land. ‘Best let me talk with them.’ 
     Galahad agreed as these men on the island were obviously of Anglisc appearance. 
     She stepped ashore and walked up to them with a smile. ‘Greetings, My Lords, I am Ædra of Northumbria.’ 
     ‘Why do you come here? To pillage?’ 
     ‘Certainly not. We have come only for fresh water from the stream. If we can beg of that concession, we will leave you in peace.’ 
     ‘Very well. I am Stuf and this is my brother, Whitgar. We are eoldormen for King Cynric of Westseax.’ 
     ‘Then you will know Gann of Camelot.’ 
     ‘Of course. He rules for the great Christian Queen of Britannia.’ 
     ‘Have you met this Queen?’ 
     ‘No. we hear that she is of iron and rules with a strong hand.’ 
     Ædra laughed. ‘Where on earth did you hear that?’ 
     ‘From Igor the Mighty. If he has succumbed to her power, she must be a very terrible woman.’ 
     ‘She must indeed, my Lords, if what you say is true. May my household step ashore? With your permission, I would like to arrange a feast for the great eoldormen of Vectis.’ 
     The men looked at each other. ‘If you truly come in peace, we would be honoured for you to join us at our home in Caersbrook.’ 
     ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I, too, would be honoured.’ 
     She relayed the details to Galahad and the girls and they sailed upstream as far as they could and then rode on borrowed horses the short distance to the fort on the maidun. 
     ‘I would introduce my husband, Sir Galahad du Lac,’ she said pleasantly. 
     ‘Welcome to Caersbrook. Tell me, is your kingdom subject to this great queen?’ 
     ‘I suppose it is,’ Ædra said. ‘Her brother rules at Ebor, close to where we live.’ 
     ‘Have you met her?’ 
     Galahad interrupted. ‘Ædra, what are these men talking about?’ 
     ‘They are seeking news of the iron queen of Britannia.’ 
     ‘But you are Queen of Britannia,’ he blurted out and was shocked at the sudden silence. 
     Whitgar looked at her and then back to Galahad. ‘She is an impostor. She is little more than a child and cannot possibly rule Britannia.’ 
     ‘I assure you, your Lordships. This is indeed Princess Ædra of Camelot, Queen of Britannia and Gaul.’ 
     Whitgar’s hand shot out and he grabbed Ædra’s hair, jerking her head back to expose her throat to his dagger. ‘What say you, girl? Are you Queen or impostor?’ 
     ‘My Lord Whitgar. Please do not hurt me, my husband will be very angry.’ 
     ‘I don’t believe you are this Queen,’ he spat, his face close to hers. 
     Galahad stepped forward but several men threatened instant death. 
     Toreal saved the day. ‘My Lords, I am Princess Toreal of Caledonia.’ 
     She held up a medallion Ædra had often seen around her neck but had never taken much notice of before. ‘This is the royal seal of the house of the Cruithni. Do you recognise it?’ 
     It was Stuf who came across and peered at the medallion. ‘This is gold. And it does have the mark of the Cruithni upon it.’ 
     ‘My Lords, I am heir to the throne of Caledonia and I bend my knee to none except the Queen.’ She turned to the surprised Ædra and curtsied before her, kissing her hand. ‘I am at your service, Your Majesty.’ 
     Stuf swallowed. ‘You really are the Queen?’ 
     ‘I am,’ said Ædra. 
     ‘Liar,’ shouted Whitgar and struck her across the face, drawing a trickle of blood from her mouth. 
     Toreal went straight for his throat without a second’s hesitation and her little dagger rose and fell several times before he fell across the table and then crashed to the floor with Toreal on top of him, still stabbing and slashing at his body. The others stood in shocked silence while Galahad gently took the knife from her and lifted her to her feet. 
     ‘She has killed my brother,’ said the shocked Stuf. 
     ‘Ædra does not rule with iron, My Lord,’ said Galahad. ‘She treats her people well and that inspires this kind of loyalty from all her subjects. If she had been badly harmed, this island would have been totally devastated within a week.’ 
     ‘The Queen may go free and yourself,’ said Stuf. ‘But the girl must be punished for her murder of my brother.’ 
     ‘I do not leave without Toreal,’ insisted Ædra. 
     ‘Please go, Princess,’ pleaded the girl. ‘Or they will kill you all. I will stay and take the punishment.’ 
     ‘What is the value of your brother, Stuf?’ asked Ædra. By Seaxon law, a murderer could buy his freedom by value of the person killed. 
     ‘I would demand one hundred krone for my brother.’ 
     ‘I will pay the price,’ said Ædra. 
     ‘You have a hundred krone?’ 
     ‘Of course. I am Queen, remember?’ 
     ‘If you truly are Queen, I will not demand the price.’ 
     ‘But you do not believe me, so how can you decide?’ 
     ‘I will take you to King Cynric for judgement.’ 
     ‘Very well,’ she said. ‘I will agree to that.’


     They stayed the night at Caersbrook and left in the morning, by boat, for the mainland. They sailed down the MÆdina and across the water into a wide estuary called Itchen. The party was stopped after a while by two other eoldormen, Bieda and MÆgla, who heard of the tale and decided to accompany them to UincÆstra for judgement. It was, therefore, quite a large group that arrived at the Roman town and was ushered into the King’s Court. 
     ‘I bring the killer of my brother for judgement,’ greeted Stuf. 
     ‘Bring me the murderer,’ said Cynric and Toreal was pushed forward. Cynric laughed. ‘This girl killed a mighty warrior like Whitgar? Stuf, don’t make me laugh.’ 
     ‘But, Sire. She attacked him with a knife. She claims to be Princess Toreal of Caledonia. 
     The room fell silent. ‘And these others?’ Cynric indicated. 
     ‘They are also impostors. The one with the golden hair claims to be the Queen of Britannia. The man claims to be Sir Galahad du Lac, Duke of Gaul.’ 
     ‘And the child?’ Cynric pointed at the little girl with them. ‘I suppose she claims to be Igor the Mighty?’ He roared with laughter and most of the others joined in. 
     The child stepped before the throne. ‘I am Princess Roxana of Gododdin. Princess Toreal is my aunt and Ædra is my Queen. If you hurt them, King Ædred will be very angry.’ 
     The room fell silent as Cynric leant forward. ‘King Ædred? Of Ebor?’ 
     ‘He is the Queen’s brother,’ she bravely spoke up. 
     ‘Your Majesty,’ interrupted Stuf. ‘They also claim to know Gann of Camelot.’ 
     ‘Do you?’ asked Cynric of Ædra. 
     ‘He is my uncle, sire.’ 
     ‘Describe him.’ 
     Ædra smiled. ‘Six foot six inches tall with golden hair like mine. His wife’s name is Moryna and their child...’ 
     ‘Enough,’ said the King as he stepped down from his throne and stood before Ædra. He held out his hand to the tall man who stood before him while he drew his sword. Cynric balanced it in his hand as he stood not three feet from Ædra, pondering. 
     ‘If you are indeed the Queen, your father was Arthur of Camelot. What was your mother’s name? Think carefully. All your lives depend upon your answer.’ 
     ‘Sire,’ Ædra said without hesitation. ‘My mother was Princess Rowena of Hengist.’ 
     ‘How did she die?’ he asked in the complete silence as all stood with baited breath. 
     ‘She was cut to pieces by Gwayn of Monmouth.’ 
     Cynric smiled, placed the sword at Ædra’s feet and said with a bow, ‘Forgive me, Your Majesty.’ 
     Galahad started to breathe again and was surprised when his wife turned to Stuf. ‘My Lord, I will still pay the price.’ 
     ‘Your Majesty,’ insisted Stuf, bowing. ‘I will accept no price from the Queen of Britannia.’ 
     She smiled. ‘Then honour your brother. He loyally tried to do what was best for his King, even though he was mistaken. No longer call this island Vectis, but rename it the Isle of Whitgar to his memory.’ 
     Stuf bowed. ‘It shall be done, Your Majesty.’ 
     Cynric spoke up. ‘Do you wish us to make any more changes, highness?’ 
     ‘It appears to me, Lord Cynric, that you are doing an admirable job already. You seem to have the wisdom of Solomon and command a loyalty rarely seen in Britannia.’ 
     ‘Your Majesty, who is this Solomon of which you speak? Is he Anglisc?’ 
     She laughed and explained to the court of the King of the Westseax. Other cases were dismissed as the warrior son of Cedric the Great listened carefully to the wisdom of Sainte Ædra of Iarum. 
     ‘Tell me, Ædra,’ said Cynric. ‘Why is it that your teachings of Christ are so different to those sent by the Bishop at Cantibrough?’ 
     ‘My Lord Cynric, the teachings are the same. It is the manner which is different and the fact that I enforce nothing. Christianity must be shown from the heart, not just the purse.’ 
     ‘Ædra,’ he said. ‘You will go far.’ 
     She smiled mischievously. ‘I do hope so, My Lord Cynric.’ 

NINE


     The rest of the journey to Camelot went without hitch. Cynric provided a superb carriage for them and gave them armed escort all the way through Forddingbrycg, along Week Street to BlÆndefordd and then up the Estur valley. 
     The route had involved a considerable detour for, Cynric had told her, some of the Atrebates were playing silly games around Sarum and it seemed that war was imminent, so he would not risk the Queen’s life by crossing their land at the present time. Ædra did not argue. She was learning that she must place trust in these regional kings if she was to gain their full co-operation in times of national emergency. 
     ‘Tell me, Ædra. How do you manage in Camelot and Northumbria with such a large contingent of Britons present?’ 
     ‘I make peace with them,’ she said. 
     ‘How do you do that?’ 
     ‘I use the existing people. In both Ebor and Camelot, the Kings may be predominantly Anglisc, but both Ædred and Gann have Cymbric druids as their chief advisors.’ 
     ‘How does that work for peace?’ 
     ‘Well, My Lord Cynric, it gives the Britons confidence that they will not be prejudiced against. Any Briton can go to the Khana and have his case heard by one of their own kind who will then, if the matter is serious enough, discuss it with the King himself.’ 
     ‘What about religious considerations?’ 
     ‘That works well, too. Both Gann and Ædred have become Christian, but keeping a druid as chief advisor makes it clear to all the people that there will be no kind of religious intolerance in the realm. If Christianity is to spread, it must be by the book, not by the sword.’ 
     ‘I wish that all Christians saw it the same way.’ 
     ‘Tell me, My Lord.’ 
     ‘We do have problems with the Britons at times. However, the Christians in Cant are often much more intolerant and barbaric in their ways. They preach hell fire and purgatory to frighten the people into submission. I hope that your Church does not do the same.’ 
     ‘It most certainly does not. Jesus never once tried to frighten his disciples into service. His father is a God of love and he reflected his qualities perfectly.’ 
     ‘Some say that God and Christ are the same.’ 
     ‘Those “some” have never read the Book, My Lord Cynric. Why do you think that the Church of Rome insists in keeping everything in Latin? They are frightened to death that, some day, someone will find out the truth and they will be out of a job.’ 
     He laughed. ‘You are too practical and down to earth for a Queen, do you know that?’ 
     ‘Cynric, you have great perception. I believe that you will become a great King and that your son, Ceawlin, will follow you to the throne. One day, a very great King will come from your line, out of the city of UincÆstra–one who will rule the whole of Britannia in the name of Christ. It may not happen in my time, but it will happen, I promise.’ 
     ‘And if such a great King was to come in your time?’ 
     ‘I would surrender all my lands and possessions to him.’ 
     ‘Would your regional kings do the same?’ 
     ‘If I commanded it, yes.’ 
     ‘Ædra,’ interjected Galahad. ‘You would not have to command it, they would do it if you merely suggested it.’ 
     ‘Highness,’ said Cynric. ‘I can see why you are loved and obeyed. I don’t think I could refuse you anything.’ 
     ‘Then I will issue a royal decree.’ 
     ‘Name it,’ said the King. 
     ‘Firstly, you must not permit any kind of slavery in your Kingdom. Man was born free, he should stay that way. If he chooses to serve another, he must be rewarded accordingly.’ 
     ‘It shall be done. Secondly?’ 
     ‘Secondly, I will not permit any human sacrifices to be made for any reason. If the worshippers of the sun god wish to offer their sheep or their cattle, they may do so, but not their children.’ 
     ‘Is there anything else?’ 
     ‘Yes. The Church of Rome must not be allowed within the boundaries of your kingdom while I live. The truth of the Celtic Church must be allowed to spread naturally first. If, in the course of time, the people of Britannia choose the Church of Rome for themselves, then at least I will have tried. In the end, it is the choice of the people themselves that matters. We each stand before God as individuals for our actions. If some person is gullible enough to allow himself to be coerced into following a certain way, he must answer for it to God himself.’ 
     ‘That was quite a mouthful.’ 
     She smiled at him. ‘It was, wasn’t it?’ 
     ‘Ædra, one day you would make a Christian of me.’ 
     ‘I would like that,’ she said, but cautioned. ‘But do it for the right reasons. Whatever you do, don’t do it just to please me, or anyone else, for that matter. If you do it, do it because it is right and because you want to.’ 
     ‘And then?’ 
     ‘And then stick to it.’ 
     ‘I will remember your words well, Queen Ædra.’

     The sun was setting as they passed under the Great Tor and approached the City of Camelot. A shudder ran through Ædra’s body as her mind went back almost eight years to when she was twelve and had almost died when the people of Camelot had been persuaded to offer her to Bel and only the prompt action of her twin had saved her life. 
     Gann and Moryna met them at the gate and bowed low to King Cynric. 
     Ædra hugged her ex-midwife and picked up the young Daryl in her arms. ‘My, you are becoming a big girl.’ 
     Daryl smiled uncertainly at the young woman with the golden hair as Gann led them inside to a great banquet that he had arranged. 
     They ate while minstrels played and children danced. The highlight of the evening was the story-telling. Moryna told tales of the Knights of the Round table, suitably embellished. Gann spoke of David and Goliath, Ædra of the baby Moses. Cynric recounted the story of Hengist and Horsa’s conquering of Eastern Britannia. But it was Toreal who stole their hearts that evening as she told of the lofty Caledonian Mountains and the Great Islands of the Scots she called Hebrides. Everyone listened intently as the young Cruithni Princess recounted the travels of adventurers to the great islands far to the north, where the yellow-haired men with beards lived and hunted for the giant fish. She blushed as everyone applauded afterwards but she did not sit down as the others had done. 
     ‘My Lords,’ she called as silence came to the Great Hall. She bowed to Cynric and Ædra. ‘Your Highnesses, I have made up my mind. Princess Ædra has told me much of this Christ and I have learned a great deal from the Book. Tomorrow, I wish to be baptised as a Christian.’ 
     Ædra rose slowly to her feet, stepped over to the girl and placed her hands on her arms. ‘Do not do this just to please me, Toreal.’ 
     She was playfully insulted. ‘I do it because I wish it to be so.’ 
     Cynric stood beside Ædra. ‘My child,’ he said to the young girl. ‘You will make a great queen. I would ask you to consider becoming the future Queen of Westseax by marrying my son, Ceawlin.’ 
     Toreal held her young head high. ‘Sire, I would very much like to become the mother of this great King of which Princess Ædra has spoken. With her permission, I would gladly wed your son.’ She looked at Ædra, who smiled and it was all she needed. 
     ‘When?’ said Cynric. 
     Ædra looked from Toreal’s face to that of the handsome lad with the beaming smile and said, ‘Tomorrow would seem a good day for both a baptism and a wedding.’


     As the sun rose over Chewartun Hill, the little procession walked to the river and the Caledonian Princess with the dark hair and shining eyes was baptised as a Christian. She was not alone. As she stepped into the cool water in her long shift, another stood beside her and held her hand. King Cynric smiled as his son and daughter-in-law elect were baptised together by Sainte Ædra of Iarum. 
     ‘I shall never forget you, Ædra,’ said Toreal with tears in her eyes. 
     ‘I should jolly well hope not,’ said Ædra, and Toreal laughed through her tears as they stood in the river together. 
     ‘You really don’t mind my marrying Ceawlin?’ 
     ‘My child. If anyone deserves to be the mother of this great King, it is you.’ 
     ‘You mean that, don’t you?’ 
     ‘Toreal,’ she said, stroking her long hair gently. ‘I never say anything that I don’t mean.’ 
     ‘I would have done it, you know,’ she said. 
     ‘Done what?’ said Ædra puzzled. 
     ‘Killed myself at Ebor.’ 
     Ædra clutched the teenager’s body tightly to her own. ‘I know you would, Toreal. You have been a very loyal friend to me, I shall not forget it.’ 
     ‘I shall teach the word of Christ in Westseax,’ she said. ‘If you will help me.’ 
     ‘My dearest Toreal. God will help you. If it is His will, helpers will be sent to assist you and you will become the greatest Queen who has ever lived.’


     It seemed appropriate, somehow, that the wedding should take place at Camelot, where it had all started. In just eight, short years, Westseax had changed from a land of human sacrifices and cannibalism centred on sun worship, to a land of relative peace where all men were equal and where right conquered might. At Ædra’s request, Gann performed the wedding and the young couple were lost into each others’ eyes. Cynric declared that his kingdom should be split up between Gann and his son, Ceawlin, with UincÆstra as the dividing line. 
     ‘My Lord Cynric,’ said Ædra. ‘You are a very wise King. I would, however, like to make one thing clear. I will not, in any way, interfere in your ruling of the Kingdom of Westseax. If you keep the conditions I have stipulated to you concerning worship, slavery and sacrifices, I will never go against any legislation you may choose to impose upon your people.’ 
     ‘Your Majesty, you are very kind,’ said the King. ‘However, just suppose a future King should choose to go against any of your stipulations?’ 
     It took a brave man to pose such a question and the silence that ensued hurt the ears and seemed oppressive. Cynric felt a fear, one he had never dreamed himself capable of feeling, clutch at his heart as those piercing, blue eyes penetrated deep into his soul. 
     ‘I will destroy him,’ she pronounced quietly.


     Aedra stood, alone, on top of the Tor and remembered. The breeze blew through her long, golden hair and ruffled her thin dress but it was not the weather which caused a shiver to run through her slim body. She looked at the rocks, clean after the recent fall of spring rain. She looked at the clump of grass growing from around the circle, but within the circle all was barren, the ground scorched as if by some supernatural force. She kicked off her shoes and her bare toes touched the perimeter of the circle. 
     The human sacrifices had ceased many years ago, the cries of tortured, burning children long forgotten. The stump of the sacrificial May-Day pole now rotted in the centre of the circle, but there was something there, something she could neither explain nor control. 
     Ædra glanced back down the hill to where Daryl played with the other children of the city. She looked forward once more and felt the evil of the place drawing her forward, daring her to taunt the demons. 
     She stepped into the circle. 

TEN


     She was suddenly in a different world. The screams of dying children tortured her ears, the wailing of the druids mesmerised her mind into a trance. Suddenly, she was twelve years old again with her arms tied firmly, high above her head, to the sacrificial maypole. The long blade which glinted in the sun was held inches from her bare chest, ready to slice her open from collar to pubis. The long, bony fingers were poised to disembowel her belly and tear out her fast-beating heart, the hot flames ready to engulf her legs. She stared into the smiling eyes of the druid and, this time, there was no Ædred to ride over the Tor to whisk her away on his white stallion. There was no power which could prevent her being ritually mutilated and then slowly burned alive. 
     The knife went deep into her belly as her eyes went wide and the druid laughed at her pain as he sadistically twisted the long blade inside her, determined to delay the moment of death for as long as possible. The blade came slowly upwards till it reached her rib cage and the jagged edge began to saw into her bones. Eventually, she looked down at the pumping heart in the palm of his hand that rightly belonged inside her body. She screamed as the flames burned and blistered her legs and engulfed her in a wave of total agony. But her body would not die, she did not lose consciousness for a long time as the pain wracked her whole being and slowly tore her apart. 
     Galahad found her some hours later. Gently, he knelt beside her still form and smoothed the skin of her face and kissed her soft lips. Her eyes opened slowly and saw him. 
     ‘You frightened me,’ he said kindly. 
     She clutched at his neck. ‘Galahad, I love you. Give me a baby.’ 
     ‘Gladly, my darling.’ He laughed. ‘When we get back to Eborwick.’ 
     ‘No,’ she said seriously. ‘Do it here on the Tor. There is a great evil here and we must drive it away with love. I must rid this place of the devil forever, else none of us will be safe.’ 
     He looked around. ‘But someone may come.’ 
     ‘Galahad,’ she said. ‘No-one has been near this place for over three years.’ 
     He looked around him. ‘Then who has cut the grass? Who keeps the circle’s edge so perfect?’ 
     ‘No human has done this,’ she said quietly. 
     He started to get up. ‘We must get away from here. This place is evil.’ 
     She lay back on the bare ground and looked up at him. ‘It will remain evil until we drive the devil away. Make love to me, Galahad. Give me the child I long for.’

     Aedra knew she was pregnant before they got back to Ebor. The act which had produced the fertilisation had been brief but satisfying for them both and had indeed succeeded in driving the devil away. Even before they left Camelot a month later, there were blades of grass sprouting on the Tor and children played, without fear, around the withered stump of the pole which had taken so many young lives. 
     Igor had been pleased to see them at Brycgstow and had put on a magnificent feast for them He reminded Ædra of their first meeting and laughed about what he had originally intended to do to her in the forest close to Aqua Sulis. 
     ‘Ædra,’ he said playfully. ‘You were very pretty when you were younger.’ 
     ‘Thank you very much.’ She glared at him playfully and then turned to Galahad and pointed to Igor with her knife. ‘This man is full of compliments.’ 
     ‘But, Princess,’ bellowed the old outlaw, ‘Now you are absolutely beautiful.’ 
     ‘You can’t get out of it that easily, Igor the Mighty.’ 
     ‘But it is true. When I first saw you, I was captivated by your beauty.’ 
     ‘Pull the other leg, Igor,’ she said with a smile. ‘I was but a child without breasts.’ 
     ‘You have improved with age, my little Princess.’ 
     She was playfully insulted. ‘So I’m old now, am I?’ 
     He leaned towards her. ‘Still young enough to warm the cockles of an old bandit’s heart.’ 
     ‘Igor, you are a flatterer.’ 
     ‘Princess, I would follow you anywhere. Into death if you asked it.’ 
     She pondered for a moment. ‘Igor, there is something that you can do for me.’ 
     ‘Anything. Name it.’ 
     ‘Listen,’ she moved closer. ‘This is what I want you to do.’


     King Ædred could not believe his eyes as his sister’s carriage drove in through the gates of Ebor surrounded by a hundred bandits, armed to the teeth and looking like trouble. He hurried down the steps as Galahad jumped from the top of the carriage. 
     ‘Who are these men?’ he whispered. 
     ‘Friends of Ædra’s,’ replied Galahad. ‘From Brycgstow.’ 
     ‘Not Igor the Mighty?’ Ædred asked with a shocked look on his face. 
     ‘Yes, I think so.’ 
     ‘Good grief, whatever does Ædra want with this band of cut-throats?’ 
     ‘She has a job for him, she says.’ 
     Ædred frowned. ‘What kind of a job?’ 
     Ædra stuck her head out of the carriage and glared at them both. ‘Will one of you please help me down from this coach and stop talking about me as if I wasn’t here?’ 
     Ædred held out his hands. ‘Welcome home, my sister.’ 
     ‘Huh!’ she said, giving him a filthy look. 
     Galahad whispered conspiratorially to Ædred so that she could hear him. ‘I hear they are all like this when they are expecting.’ 
     Ædred’s eyes nearly fell out of their sockets. ‘You mean...?’ 
     His sister ignored him and held out her arms to his wife. Galahad nodded as Carra threw her arms around her friend. 
     ‘Hey,’ Ædred shouted to his wife. ‘Guess what?’ 
     ‘Ædred, my dear,’ said Carra, holding Ædra tight on the steps to the castle. ‘Can’t us girls have any secrets? I knew as soon as I saw her.’ The Queen looked at Ædra. ‘She simply glows with vitality and happiness.’ 
     Ædra laughed. ‘I certainly can’t keep any secrets from you, can I?’ 
     ‘No, you can’t. Come in and get something to eat. You’re feeding for two now, you know.’ 
     Ædred and Galahad looked at each other, shrugged and burst out laughing as Igor looked on, thoroughly confused.


     Igor opened the door of the private chamber and walked to Ædra’s side, bowing. ‘Your Highness.’ 
     She indicated a chair. ‘Sit down, Igor.’ 
     The old bandit obeyed, obviously uncomfortable in such respectable company. Ædra recognised this and came to the point immediately. ‘You must start immediately, there is no time to lose.’ 
     He nodded. ‘I am at your service, my Princess.’ 
     ‘It is important, Igor, that no-one survives. Do you understand?’ She gave him a bag full of gold along with a list of names and places. 
     He glanced down briefly at the paper. ‘Very well, Princess. I will follow your instructions to the letter.’ 
     ‘Excellent.‘ She smiled. ‘Now, would you take wine with me?’ 
     ‘I have never been known to refuse such an offer,’ he said with a smile just like that of a hungry wolf.


     The news of the pregnancy spread like wildfire and gifts came from far and wide, gifts which Ædra collected together separately, gifts which would finance the building of Christian places of worship. She glowed with health as she walked through the shambles at Eborwick to the smiles and greetings of the poor people. At the boatyard, she smiled herself before knocking on the wooden door. 
     Inga was overjoyed at the visit. ‘Princess Ædra, come in. Karl, look who is here.’ 
     The sailor made to grasp Ædra’s hand but her body got in the way as her arms went around his neck and her lips found his cheek. ‘My dearest Karl, how are you keeping? Is Inga feeding you properly?’ 
     He flushed red. ‘Inga always looks after me well, Your Majesty.’ 
     ‘Look, you two,’ she chastised them severely. ‘I’ll have you both thrown in the Eause if you “Highness” or “Majesty” me just once more.’ 
     They looked shocked and nodded dumbly. 
     ‘I will not have my friends calling me by fancy titles. Don’t you dare let me hear it again, or else.’ She smiled to soften the blow. ‘I mean it.’ 
     ‘We are but simple folk, Ædra,’ said Karl.’ To Inga and I, you are more than a friend.’ 
     ‘I should hope so.’ She took a hand of each of them in her own. ‘My son must have friends when he is born.’ 
     Inga laughed. ‘How do you know it will be a son?’ 
     Ædra just smiled. ‘He will be a great missionary and will spread the word in Gaul.’ 
     Karl looked surprised. ‘He will be King, surely.’ 
     ‘No, my friends. They will not allow him to be king.’ 
     It was Inga’s turn to look surprised. ‘Who won’t, Ædra?’ 
     ‘The Church won’t. Toreal will give birth to the royal line of Britannia, I will mother a mere preacher who will go back to Gaul with his father.’ 
     Karl and Inga looked at each other as the significance of her words sunk in. ‘But...where will you be?’ 
     ‘I will not be,’ she said simply. 
     ‘What do you mean?’ 
     ‘I mean that I will not be around to see it. They will kill me. I have left them no choice.’ 
     ‘Ædra, who will kill you?’ 
     ‘The Church. It cannot afford to let me live, I am an embarrassment to it.’ 
     ‘But your people will not let it happen. They will rally round and protect you. Huge armies will fight to the death for you.’ 
     ‘They will not know. I will simply disappear one day and the Church will have won.’ 
     ‘What about Galahad?’ 
     ‘He will have the son he wants, his heir.’ 
     Inga gripped her hand tightly. ‘Ædra, you cannot let this happen. You must fight back.’ 
     Ædra sighed. ‘I am getting too old to fight.’ 
     ‘You are not yet twenty, Ædra. That is not old.’ 
     ‘Inga, I might look twenty, but inside, I am worn out.’ 
     ‘Ædra, stop this nonsense. If I am really your friend, listen to me.’ She placed her hand over Ædra’s mouth to stifle protest. ‘You are upset by something. What has happened?’ 
     Ædra sat down and stared at the floor. ‘I have been to hell.’ 
     Inga staggered back. ‘What?’ 
     ‘I have seen evil such as no man has ever seen. An evil which will not go away.’ 
     ‘What kind of an evil?’ asked Karl. 
     ‘An evil which will destroy the people of Britannia.’ 
     ‘What can we do?’ 
     ‘We can do nothing in the long term. In the short term, I have taken all the action I can. But there is not enough love to prevent the evil eventually overpowering us. Even the great king who will rule from Westseax will be powerless to prevent its arrival.’ 
     ‘Are you sure about this?’ 
     ‘I am absolutely certain. The future of Britannia lies neither with the Britons nor with the Anglekeln. An evil from the north will come soon and, when we have suffered enough, the greater evil from the south will overpower and devastate us.’ 
     ‘But what evil is it, Ædra?’ 
     ‘It is the evil of power, the evil of corruption. The evil of Rome.’ 
     Karl and Inga looked at each other. ‘But the Romans have long gone from Britannia.’ 
     ‘They will return.’ 
     ‘I don’t understand,’ said Karl. ‘The Roman Empire has fallen to the Goths.’ 
     ‘It will rise again from the ashes and will be more evil than ever before. Great nations will be destroyed, children killed in their millions.’ 
     ‘Millions?’ 
     ‘Murdered by the new Romans.’ 
     ‘But Christianity will prevent it.’ 
     ‘You don’t understand, do you?’ she said, her emotions rising. ‘This great evil, this power that will set friend against friend and nation against nation and will be ultimately responsible for the wholesale slaughter and murder of millions upon millions of innocent men, women and children of all races and nations, this work of the devil that will destroy the whole world... will be called... Christianity.’ 

ELEVEN


     The wind made an erie sound as it howled unobstructed across the moors rising to the south of Vercovicium. The Vallum ran east to west along the tall ridge with Loughs Broomleah and Greenleah nestled below. The wind was not cold but it blew at the clothing of the people as they stood on the edge of the hill. 
     The old man with the white beard was obviously the leader, the teenage girl in the white gown, the loser. Fifty men and women stood around waiting for the sun to reach its zenith on this midsummer day. As the sun climbed high, the priest raised his arms to the sun and began to call out to the sky. ‘Oh, Mighty Mithra, hear me now and see the fine sacrifice we have prepared for you.’ 
     Two other men in long gowns took hold of the arms of the maiden and pulled her to the rock which jutted out over the cliff: the rock with the streaks of brown and red upon it; the rock of death. The girl did not struggle as they stripped her naked but looked, imploringly, at one of the other men as her arms and legs were tightly stretched across the bloody rock and tied firmly. The crowd began to chant as the priest’s fervent prayer reached its climax and he raised the sacrificial dagger in the air several times.
     ‘Lord Mithra,’ the priest called out. ‘Receive the spirit of this maiden unto you.’ 
     He turned to the rock and placed his left hand over her mouth as he raised his other arm high and looked down at her bare body, totally at his mercy. 
     The wooden arrow was less than two feet long and, even with its iron tip, weighed but a few ounces. Propelled from a longbow at a range of twenty feet, it has great power and this particular one did not even hesitate as it passed right through the neck of the high priest. He stopped at the strange feeling in his throat and looked down at the drops of his blood which dripped onto the girl’s small white breasts. His arm was still raised and the girl’s eyes were fixed on the blade still poised high above her undefended heart. 
     The second arrow hit him in the chest and he coughed when the third hit him in the side with such a force that he spun round, involuntarily. He let out a gurgle as he toppled, as if in slow motion, from the top of the cliff. 
     The rest of the people were stunned into silence as they were confronted with a group of men with iron swords who seemed intent on one purpose only. Some jumped from the cliff to be shattered on the rocks below, others stood their ground and all but one were hacked to death and their bodies thrown over the edge. There were no children in the group except the one prostrated upon the rock and, within two minutes, the men stood alone with her on the edge of the ridge. 
     ‘Jamin,’ said Igor. ‘Take the rest of the men, find the village and burn it. Kill anyone left in it, men, women and boys. If there are any girls, bring them to me, unharmed.’ 
     ‘Very well, Lord Igor,’ replied the Celtic warrior. 
     Igor turned to the girl who was trembling violently, her eyes wide with fear. The thought of sacrifice was bad enough but she had heard about what bandits usually did to their female captives. She was surprised when Igor smiled at her. ‘It seems you will live to see another day, my little one.‘ 
     He cut the thongs binding her and held out her gown to her. Puzzled, she slipped it over her naked body and came to stand beside him. ‘Thank you, my Lord.’ 
     ‘Don’t thank me, child. Thank Queen Ædra. It is she who has saved your life.’ 
     ‘What do you mean?’ 
     ‘Human sacrifice has been banned here in Northumbria as well as in other places. The Queen has instructed me to act, without mercy, against those who choose to ignore her commands in the matter.’ 
     ‘Am I to be taken and used by you and your men, along with the other virgins of the village?’ 
     ‘Certainly not,’ he said with a sly grin. ‘You are very beautiful, my dear, but it would be more than my life is worth to do such a thing. You are all to be taken to Christian homes where you are to learn of the Book. When you become of age, you will then be allowed to go free or to stay and become baptised as Christians.’ 
     ‘And when we have been taken to these places?’ 
     ‘I and my men will press on further in search of others who disregard the law of Ædra. You will find, my child, that there is nothing to be feared more than the revenge of King Arthur’s Brood.’ 
     Eoldorman Gwyndor stood before Ædra in chains. Igor thrust him forward and he fell to his knees, his face pleading for mercy. 
     ‘You ignored my instructions,’ she said sternly. ‘I trusted you.’ 
     ‘It was the people, Your Majesty,’ he lied. ‘They forced me to bring back the priest of Mithra.’ 
     ‘You could have come to me and I would have supported you. Instead, you sat back and did nothing. How many times has it happened?’ 
     He did not answer. 
     She rose to her feet and stepped before him. His chained hands gripped her dress as she looked down at him and sneered, ‘You don’t even know, do you?’ She pointed. ‘Look at the girl.’ 
     He twisted his head to see the young maiden standing beside Igor. 
     ‘She is your own daughter. Do not try to tell me that you did not know what was going on in your own kingdom.’ 
     ‘Spare me, Princess,’ he pleaded. ‘I’ll do anything.’ 
     ‘It is too late for that,’ she condemned quietly. She looked at Igor. ‘Take him outside and hang him.’ 
     Igor took him away, screaming and pleading, and Ædra was glad. The more noise he made, the more people would hear about it; the more the news would be spread; the more lives would be saved. At first, she had been tempted to give in and show mercy but believed that she must be firm this first time as an example to others. When the news got around, other kings and chieftains would think twice before duplicating such folly. 
     ‘Lord Ida,’ she said to the tall Anglisc who had come to court at her command. ‘With immediate effect, you are to take over all Gwyndor’s lands and estates.’ 
     Ida bowed. ‘Thank you, Your Majesty.’ 
     ‘How is your new fortress coming along?’ 
     ‘Slowly, Princess. If I were permitted to use slaves...’ 
     ‘No!’ she shouted. ‘No slaves!’ 
     He bowed. ‘As you wish, Highness.’ 
     She relaxed. ‘You must call me Ædra, my Lord. You are the biggest landowner in my kingdom now. Play your cards right and you could become King of all Northumbria.’ 
     ‘I would be honoured, Princess.’ 
     She glared at him. 
     He apologised. ‘Sorry, Ædra.’ 
     ‘You will learn, Ida.’ She smiled as he rose to leave. ‘Give my regards to your lady wife, Bebarun.’ 
     ‘I will, Ædra.’ 
     He departed and Ædra looked at the young girl who still stood where she had been left by Igor. 
     ‘Come here, child,’ beckoned Ædra. 
     The girl walked over and stood before the throne with bowed head, still trembling from head to toe. 
     Ædra sat down and placed a hand on her large tummy. She tapped the other seat with her other hand. ‘Sit here.’ 
     The girl was puzzled but obeyed. 
     ‘What is your name?’ Ædra asked kindly. 
     ‘I am Gwyndora, Princess.’ 
     ‘How old are you, Gwyndora?’ 
     ‘I am thirteen, Princess.’ 
     ‘How would you like to become my Maid of Honour?’ 
     Gwyndora’s mouth dropped wide open with surprise. ‘I...I don’t know what to say.’ 
     Ædra shrugged. ‘Say “yes”.’ 
     ‘Well...yes, Your Majesty.’ 
     Ædra glared. ‘Don’t you start. Let’s get one thing straight. You are Gwyndora, I am Ædra.’ She relaxed. ‘Now. Let’s practise, shall we?’ 
     Gwyndora looked beautiful when she laughed and Ædra guessed it was probably many years since the poor girl had been given reason to laugh. 
     ‘Yes, Ædra,’ she said. 
     ‘Good. Now then, you must have some training. You will spend the next month with Queen Carra. If you call her Carra, she will treat you as a friend and will help you. If you refer to her as “Highness” or “Majesty”, she will probably throw you in the river. Her husband is King Ædred, my brother. I think that “Sire” is perhaps more fitting whilst you are in Eborwick. My husband is Sir Galahad and he will be referred to simply as Galahad. Is that all clear?’ 
     Gwyndora nodded. ‘Perfectly.’ 
     ‘Do you like children?’ Ædra asked. 
     Gwyndora smiled. ‘I love them.’ 
     ‘Then you will have lots.’ 
     Gwyndora looked worried and it was Ædra’s turn to laugh. 
     ‘Of ours,’ she clarified. ‘Carra has four and I am about to add to the bedlam.’ She patted her tummy again and put her other hand over Gwyndora’s. ‘Welcome to the Eborwick mad-house.’

     Cardinal Broghanzani arrived just before the baby was due and Ædra was in bed with Gwyndora and Roxana looking after her. 
     She smiled her welcome. ‘Come in, Emilio. You remember Princess Roxana of Gododdin?’ 
     ‘Of course.’ He bowed to the ten-year-old. 
     ‘And this,’ announced Ædra, ‘Is my chief Maid of Honour, Lady Gwyndora of Vercovicium.’ 
     ‘Enchanted, my Lady,’ he said as Gwyndora blushed at the attention she was receiving. He turned to Ædra. ‘I bring you good news.’ 
     ‘I’m glad,’ said Ædra. 
     Emilio thought that she sounded sad, so he sat down of her bed and took her hand in his. ‘Ædra. What is it?’ 
     Ædra looked at Gwydora who took the hint, nodded and left with Roxana in tow. 
     She squeezed his hand. ‘I am frightened, Emilio.’ 
     The Cardinal laughed. ‘You? Frightened? You do not know the meaning of the word.’ 
     Ædra did not laugh. ‘I am not frightened for myself, but for others.’ 
     He looked down at their hands for a moment. ‘Do you think that you can tell me?’ 
     She nodded and told him. He stood up when she had finished telling him what she had revealed to Karl and Inga. ‘I understand your fear, Ædra. You have great perception, do you know that?’ 
     ‘What do you mean?’ 
     ‘There is talk that the Western Bishops will try to re-establish the capital of the Church separated from Constantinople. The centre may not be Rome itself but could be anywhere in Western Europe. Tell me, Ædra. Where did you hear of this matter?’ 
     ‘I did not hear of it, Emilio. I saw it in a vision on the Great Tor at Camelot. It was a terrible nightmare I shall never forget. I can remember every detail of it.’ 
     ‘Even the part about the Romans coming back to Britannia?’ 
     Ædra nodded. Emilio sat beside her and put his arm around her shoulders. ‘You don’t mind?’ 
     She shook her head and smiled at such a fatherly act of love. 
     ‘There is talk, Ædra. I admit, only talk, that the new Church will try to call itself the Holy Roman Empire.’ 
     She sat very still. 
     He said, ‘Quite a coincidence, isn’t it?’ 
     ‘Then I was right.’ She looked at her confidant. ‘They have to kill me, don’t they?’ 
     He looked back at her. ‘Yes, they do.’ 
     Ædra rested her head upon his chest. ‘Oh, Emilio, what am I going to do?’ 
     He sat her up and grasped her roughly by the arms. ‘You are going to fight them, like you did before.’ 
     ‘But, if it is pointless...?’ 
     ‘Ædra. I have to say that you are right in believing that it may be pointless as far as your own life is concerned, but it is very unlike you to be considering yourself.’ 
     ‘I worry only for others.’ 
     ‘Then ignore the Church, pretend that it is not there. Fight to establish Christianity in the way you have always done. Take life as it comes.’ He paused. ‘And even death.’ 
     She smiled through her tears of frustration. ‘I knew you would help me.’ She wiped her face on the blanket. ‘Tell me how you are doing. You said that you had some good news.’ 
     ‘I have.’ He smiled. ‘Columba jumped at the chance of preaching to the Scots. He is presently seeking permission from King Donald to set up a colony on Iona that can be used as a base from which to operate. Once he is established there, we can consider where and how to go next.’ 
     ‘I know where. The how will come to me later.’ 
     ‘Very well. I shall look into it for you.’ 
     ‘What about yourself?’ 
     ‘I heard at last. I am no longer a Cardinal of the Church of Rome. They finally caught up with me.’ 
     She thought for a moment. ‘Emilio. What is more important than a Bishop?’ 
     He shrugged. ‘A Chief Bishop?’ 
     ‘A chief angel is an Archangel. A chief Bishop, therefore, must be an Archbishop. Welcome to insanity, my Lord Archbishop of Eborwick.’ 
     ‘Princess,’ he queried. ‘Can you do that?’ 
     She sat up straight. ‘I just did.’ 
     They laughed. ‘I am honoured, Ædra.’ 
     ‘Not half as much as you will be. If you look into that room, you will see what I have collected for you.’ 
     Puzzled, he got up and walked over and peered into the room. His eyes opened wide. 
     ‘It is for the building of our colony at Iona,’ she said. ‘It is given on one condition.’ 
     He looked suspicious. ‘Which is?’ 
     ‘No-one must know where it came from.’ 
     ‘But what shall I tell them? They will want to know who the benefactor is.’ 
     ‘Why?’ 
     ‘So that you can be properly honoured.’ 
     ‘This is not the Church of Rome, Emilio. Have you not yet learned that I do not seek honour, My Lord Archbishop?’ 
     ‘That sounds funny.’ 
     ‘Get used to it. Now, take the money and go. Tell them what you like but do not mention me or Eborwick. Let them think that some local Scots prince has provided the funds. They will like that.’ 
     ‘Your wish is my command, Ædra.’ 
     ‘Very well,’ she said, standing and pulling her gown about her as she spun on her toes. ‘I wish that you could stay until my son is born and give him your blessing.’ 
     He laughed at her child-like spirit and antics. ‘That I will gladly do, my dear Princess.’


     The Autumn leaves fell in the piazza outside the Great Basilica as the light wind scurried them into little whirlwinds of golden confetti while the sun cast long shadows from the tall trees. The messenger walked in through the high doorway and stood, respectfully, before the Holy Pontiff. 
     ‘You must go to Britannia,’ the holy man said as the lower mortal bowed. 
     ‘As you command, Holy Father.’ 
     ‘There is a matter which can wait no longer. Here is your letter of authority to Cardinal Broghanzani.’ The Pontiff handed him a letter which bore the seal of the Pontifex Maximus himself. ‘You will find him at Eboracum, in the north. Tell him that the matter about which we have spoken at length must be finalised immediately.’ 
     ‘Very good, Holy Father.’ He turned to go. 
     ‘There is one more thing,’ said the Pontiff. The messenger waited. ‘If the Cardinal is unable to carry out my instructions for any reason, you are to do it. You will then have to deal with both of them.’ 
     The man smiled. ‘It will be a pleasure to serve you, Holy Father.’ He bowed and departed, his mind full of thoughts of the great reward which would soon be his. 
     The baby was born before the first frost hardened the ground of Eborwick. Carra had been up all night with Ædra, who’s slim form had struggled to bring her child to life. As the first lights of dawn scattered across the eastern sky, Paulinus was born. The city rejoiced and royal messengers were sent throughout Britannia to proclaim the birth of the seven pound boy with the quiff of curly, auburn hair. 
     Despite the fact that winter was approaching, the tribal kings converged on Eborwick to greet the new Prince and to confirm their allegiance. Gann was coming from Camelot; Cynric, Ceawlin and Toreal from Uinncaestra; Ida the Flamebearer from Din Gyuarda; Gareth from Odin’s Burgh; Polimus from Pons Ælius. In their hoards, with royal households in attendance, they flocked from all Britannia to the Royal Capital. Ædred and Carra were hard-pressed to find accommodation for them all but the people willingly offered every facility to the delegates from far and wide. 
     ‘Well, they’ve started to arrive,’ said Carra from beside the castle window overlooking the courtyard. 
     ‘I’m so happy,’ replied Ædra, her baby snuggled to her breast. 
     ‘Is Galahad happy, too?’ 
     ‘He is delighted that he has a son. His mother will also be very happy when the messenger gets to Gaul.’ 
     ‘Is there anything I can get you before I go to supervise tonight’s banquet?’ 
     Ædra thought for a moment. ‘Yes. Is Igor back from Baildun yet?’ 
     ‘I think so. Do you want to see him?’ 
     ‘No, I just want to be sure that he is at the banquet tonight.’ 
     ‘Ædra, I don’t know what you see in him. I wouldn’t trust him an inch and his men look the most disreputable bunch I have ever seen in my life.’ 
     ‘Don’t worry, Carra. I don’t trust him either but, at the moment, he is the only one who has the stomach for eliminating the druids who continue to offer human sacrifices. Besides, he knows about the power and what it can do if he should ever try to betray me.’ 
     ‘Ædra,’ said Carra from the doorway, ‘Please be careful. This could so easily backfire on you.’


     The messenger arrived as darkness fell and arrangements were being finalised for the banquet. He looked into the Great Hall where the dark-haired girl stood with sleeves rolled up, personally directing the servants to set out the room correctly. Passing on, he entered the private area and knocked on the wooden door. 
     ‘Well, Emilio,’ he snided as he entered the door which had been opened to him. ‘You certainly have it made here, haven’t you?’ 
     ‘Father Bucatti,’ the surprised Cardinal gasped as he closed the door. ‘What brings you to Britannia?’ 
     ‘I come in the name of the Holy Father.’ He handed him the sealed letter. ‘He says the matter must be finalised.’ 
     ‘Immediately?’ 
     ‘I believe that is what he has in mind.’ 
     ‘But I am not ready yet. There are things to arrange.’ 
     ‘Your Eminence,’ said the messenger quietly. ‘My instructions are very clear. If you do not have the will for it, then I must do it for you.’ 
     ‘I see,’ said the Cardinal, deep in thought. He made up his mind. ‘Return to the Holy Father, Bucatti. Tell him that it will, indeed, be done at once.’ 
     The messenger turned to leave. 
     ‘No. On second thoughts, tell him that it has already been done.’ 
     The messenger looked puzzled. ‘But it has not, has it?’ 
     ‘No. But by the time that you have returned to the Basilica, Queen Ædra of Britannia will be no more.’ Emilio stood up. ‘I give him my word on it.’ 

TWELVE


     The celebrations seemed never-ending. Great gifts arrived from all parts of the Kingdom as the tribal kings arrived for the great banquet. It was the first time they had all congregated in one place and it was an opportunity to make friends and to conclude trading agreements with each other. Minstrels sang, maidens danced and stories were told. It was late and much food and wine had been consumed before Ædra rose to speak. 
     ‘My very good friends,’ she began to the crowded room. ‘Your coming here has made me very happy indeed and I know that I speak for my husband and son, too, when I offer my sincere thanks for all the wonderful gifts you have brought today. We shall never forget it.’ 
     A great cheering broke out and tears streamed down her face as she waited for quiet again. 
     ‘It is good that you are here today, for I have some information to give you and one or two pronouncements to make. I pray that you will indulge me for a short time.’ 
     She looked around them all. ‘First of all, I would like to thank you for your support recently. We have a united kingdom at last and I could not have done it without your help.’ 
     ‘You are wrong,’ called the King of Westseax. ‘It is we who could not have managed without you.’ There were calls of agreement. 
     ‘You are too kind, my Lord Cynric.’ 
     ‘It is truth,’ he said and sat down again. 
     ‘My Lords, I would like to make a proclamation.’ The room fell silent. ‘I would like to announce that, with immediate effect, you now have complete control over your kingdoms. I retire from any direct part in the affairs of Britannia.’ 
     ‘You cannot do that,’ called Gann. ‘What will we do without you?’ 
     ‘My Lords,’ she said. ‘Britannia is at peace. Because of the work of Igor, the druids who insisted on defying me by offering up human sacrifices have been driven from Angland onto the Tors of Cornwall and into the Cwmbrian mountains. At this time, we have no direct influence in those places and history will show that worship of the sun will have been driven from Britannia with the exception of those places.’ 
     Ædred smiled. ‘The history books the druids write will probably try to show that it is we Anglisc who were the pagan invaders and it is they who were in the right.’ 
     ‘You are probably right, my brother,’ laughed Ædra. ‘However, the facts will speak for themselves.’ 
     ‘What about the worship of Mithra?’ asked Polimus. ‘Has this been eradicated from the land?’ 
     ‘Within a few days, it will have been, my friend.’ 
     ‘Why a few days?’ asked Princess Toreal. 
     ‘Because that is when one of their great festivals is held. You see, the worship of Mithra follows the same general pattern as that of the Roman Saturn. There is a festival in the spring and another in the winter.’ 
     ‘Why, Ædra?’ asked Ida. 
     ‘The one in the spring is a fertility festival and takes place at the end of our month of March. The Babylonians called it the festival to Ishtar, the Phoenicians called it Ashtoreth, others Astarti. All featured fertility symbols such as rabbits and eggs. These goddesses were all parts of a triad of gods.’ 
     ‘A what?’ asked Carra. 
     ‘Triad,’ clarified Ædra. ‘Three gods in one. In the case of the Romans, Jupiter was the father of the gods, Venus the mother and Saturn was the son and heir.’ 
     ‘And what of the winter festival?’ asked Gann. 
     ‘A child conceived, supposedly with the aid of the gods, at the end of March, would be born at the end of December. That is when their other great festival is held.’ 
     ‘Saturnalia,’ confirmed Polimus. ‘At the end of December, we Romans used to celebrate the festival of Saturnalia, the birth of the son of the great god, Jupiter. Markets would close, slaves freed for a week and there would be great drinking matches and festivities, including the giving of gifts.’ 
     ‘Correct, my friend. The same applies to Mithra. By legend he, the son of God, was conceived in the spring and his birthday is traditionally celebrated at this time of year.’ 
     ‘When precisely, Princess?’ 
     ‘In a few day’s time, at the end of December. However, with the end of the worship of Mithra in Britannia, there can be no more festivals again on that day, ever.’ 
     ‘Then this truly is a glorious time in which to be living, Ædra,’ said Cewlin. 
     ‘We have not finished yet. There is still much to do and that is why I must, from now on, concentrate on spreading the Word. I think some of you have not yet met Emilio.’ She bade him stand. ‘My friends, this is Emilio Broghanzani, late Cardinal of the Church of Rome, now my Archbishop of Eborwick.’ 
     He bowed and they officially made him welcome. 
     ‘A question, Princess,’ said another man, standing. 
     ‘Yes, My Lord Khana.’ 
     ‘Princess, I do not have that title any more. I am no longer a practising druid and certainly not a High Priest.’ 
     ‘My apologies, Galfor. What is your question?’ 
     ‘Is the Archbishop to become Chief Advisor in my place?’ 
     ‘Certainly not! The position of Archbishop is purely a religious one. Heaven help us if our religious leaders ever became involved in the politics of Britannia. You will remain advisor to my brother. No-one could do the job better.’ 
     ‘It makes me proud to hear you say that, your Majesty.’ 
     Ædra smiled. 
     ‘What other changes are you suggesting?’ asked Ædred. 
     She turned to the tall Anglisc beside her. ‘Ida, I want you to take over the whole of Northumbria with immediate effect.’ 
     ‘Thank you, Princess. However, I have one question.’ 
     ‘Yes?’ 
     ‘My successor. As you know, Bebba and I have no sons of our own and I would like to be sure that the one who will follow me is one upon whom we can all depend.’ 
     ‘You will be able to do that, Lord Ida. Your successor will be...’ 
     They held their breath as Ædra looked toward her young nephew standing beside Princess Roxana. ‘He will be Prince Ælle.’ 
     ‘An excellent choice,’ confirmed Ida. 
     ‘I believe so,’ she said. ‘Ælle’s son will become very great in Northumbria and will eventually rule the whole of Britannia. In the days of good King Ædwine, the Kingdom will become united in Christ, even allied to the Cantii in Southseax.’ 
     Ædra looked at the dark-haired girl standing beside Ælle. ‘I believe the mother of this king has already been determined.’ 
     The King of Westseax rose to his feet. ‘Is this the great king of which you have already spoken?’ 
     ‘No, my Lord Cynric. Ædwine will be a strong king but will be unable to prevent the great evil that the Devil will send from the north. It is the descendant of your own son, Cewlin, and the Princess Toreal, who will fight this evil and drive it from our shores. Their son will indeed be called “Great.” 
     ‘You have a deep perception, Ædra,’ said Cynric. ‘How sure can you be that peace will be maintained in Britannia?’ 
     ‘There will never be total peace, My Lord. When we have defeated the great evil from the north, the greater evil of Rome will defeat us and this conqueror will cause many deaths and will enforce a way of worship so hypocritical in nature that the people will come to hate the very name of Christianity. This form of Christianity will become the richest and most bloodthirsty group of people which has ever existed and the resulting reign of terror will make even the Cruithni seem like saints.’ She smiled at Toreal who knew exactly what she meant. 
     ‘Then we must resist it,’ said the tall knight. 
     ‘Galahad, my dearest, those who fight will be destroyed. If, for instance, Eborwick were to revolt, this conqueror would burn the city to the ground and ravage the countryside.’ 
     ‘We cannot simply sit and wait for it to happen,’ said Ædred. 
     ‘You are right, my brother. That is why I must preach the real truth before it is too late.’ 
     ‘We shall miss you, Ædra,’ said Gann. 
     ‘My friends, believe one thing. I shall always be with you, in spirit if not in body. If I must return from the grave, then I will do so.’ 
     ‘You speak as if you are going to die,’ said Carra. 
     Ædra looked around at the sea of faces. ‘I want you all to promise me one thing.’ She waited until she had both their attention and their agreement. ‘If I should die, promise me that you will take no vengeance against the perpetrators.’ 
     ‘How can we do that?’ 
     ‘Promise me,’ she insisted. 
     One by one, they gave their word. 
     ‘There has been enough revenge taken. If there is to be any more, it should be God’s. His vengeance is to be feared far more than the revenge of King Arthur’s Brood.’

     The bag of gold changed hands in the darkness. ‘You know what to do?’ 
     ‘I shall not fail you, My Lord Archbishop. It will be done exactly as you have instructed.’ 
     ‘Don’t let me down, Igor. Get it wrong and the vengeance that will be wreaked will be terrible in nature.’ 
     ‘I understand. You can depend on me.’


     During the next day, many started to return to their kingdoms. At Ædra’s request, Cynric, Cewlin and Toreal stayed on for a few days. 
     ‘Are you really going to take a low profile, Ædra?’ asked Toreal. 
     ‘Of course. There is little I can accomplish as a ruler, but much that I can do as a teacher.’ 
     ‘The Church of Rome will be very upset.’ 
     Ædra laughed. ‘Of the many things that could worry me, that is the least. If anything happens, it will happen.’ 
     ‘Tomorrow is the birthday of Mithra, what will you do?’ 
     ‘I am meeting Igor at Procolitia. I will leave at first light to attend the final sacrifice to a pagan god.’ 
     It was snowing as Galahad and Ædra topped the rise to the Vallum and saw the temple area ahead. Many men waited, hidden in the trees, to see if any worshippers would arrive in defiance of Ædra’s command as she dismounted beside the wagon and approached the leader. 
     ‘Any sign of worshippers, Igor?’ she whispered. 
     ‘Not this afternoon. They came at first light and made a sacrifice. Unfortunately we were too late to save the life of this poor girl.’ 
     He lifted the edge of the blanket on the wagon and Ædra saw a young woman with fair hair who looked so similar to herself. She lay, her body horribly slashed and mutilated by the priest’s dagger, her face totally contorted with the pain which had torn her life away from her. ‘We caught the priest and tossed him from the rocks. I doubt that anyone else will come today.’ 
     ‘You have done well, Igor.’ 
     ‘I have only done as instructed, Princess.’ 
     ‘Then we will return to Eborwick,’ said Galahad. 
     Igor faced them. ‘Not yet, my friends.’ His men encircled them as the wind blew small flakes of snow through the trees. 
     ‘What do you mean?’ asked Galahad, suspiciously. 
     ‘There is one last sacrifice. Then it is all finished.’ 
     Galahad became wary and looked at the twenty or so faces surrounding them. ‘What does he mean, Ædra?’ 
     ‘He means me,’ she said quietly. 
     ‘You are very perceptive,’ said Igor. ‘Why do you think I invited you out here, away from your brother? I know your power is only strong when you are together.’ 
     ‘You have been paid by another to do this, haven’t you?’ 
     Igor nodded. ‘Not that you can do anything about that. I truly am sorry, Ædra, that you have to go like this.’ 
     ‘She is not going,’ said Galahad, drawing his sword. 
     The bandits drew their daggers and closed in while Igor watched. Galahad manoeuvred himself so that Ædra was behind him, with her back to the wagon, protecting her with his life and sword. Galahad knew he could not defeat so many but he was not going without a fight. He would at least kill some of them before he was struck down. 
     Igor looked straight at Ædra. ‘I have no instructions as to Galahad, Ædra. He should not die like this.’ 
     Ædra nodded with understanding and reached slowly for the large branch at her feet. 
     ‘Forgive me, Galahad,’ she said as her husband fell to the ground under her heavy blow. 
     Igor smiled as his men stepped forward, daggers at the ready, to present the last sacrifice to Mithra.


     The wagon drove slowly over the Euse bridge and stopped outside the castle. Two limp forms were dumped unceremoniously onto the hard ground before the riders quickly dispersed into the night. 
     The sentry cautiously opened the south-west gate and, seeing that all was clear, rushed forward to examine the two still bodies. The first was a man who was still breathing though very pale, and with matted blood on his head. He turned over the second body and saw that the girl with the fair hair and golden torc was beyond his help. He pulled back the blanket briefly to make sure and what he saw made him very sick indeed. He called out the Captain of the Guard and, eventually, the Archbishop arrived and took charge. Galahad was taken to the castle for attention while Emilio arranged for the body to be taken to the small church. A little later, Ædred and Carra arrived. 
     ‘Don’t go in,’ said the Archbishop, holding up his hand. ‘She is not a pretty sight. I’m afraid Ædra was pretty badly mutilated and I’m sure she would want you to remember her as she was.’ 
     ‘Are you sure that it is Ædra?’ asked her brother. 
     ‘I have positively identified her,’ said Emilio, holding up the bloodstained golden torc. ‘There is no doubt about it.’ 
     Carrra looked at Ædred, who stood , deep in thought. 
     ‘Will you make the arrangements ?’ he said eventually. 
     ‘Of course,’ said the Cardinal with a faint smile.


     The funeral was held in the Anglisc cemetery across the river. Galahad stood, his head still bandaged, as the coffin was laid at the grave side. Carra stepped close and held his hand tightly, tears now exhausted, her face the colour of the snow. ‘What will you do?’ 
     ‘It was Ædra’s wish that Paulinus be raised as a missionary in Gaul.’ He looked across at his son who was safely in the arms of the dark-haired, brown-eyed Gwyndora of Vercovicium. 
     ‘I understand.’ Carra squeezed his hand. ‘Ædred and I will miss you.’ 
     ‘I shall miss Ædra.’ 
     ‘We all will, Galahad. We all will.’ 
     ‘You will observe her last wish, won’t you?’ 
     ‘We will, though it goes against the grain. We will take no revenge against Igor as the deed was obviously inspired by another, unknown person.’ 
     Galahad looked across at the King. ‘Ædred does not seem as upset as I would have expected him to be.’ 
     ‘He will not accept that she has died. When he does come to terms with it, the pain will be very great.’ 
     ‘He is a good man, Carra. Take care of him.’ 
     ‘I already do that, Galahad. Over the next few months, he will need all the love that I can muster.’ 
     ‘It is something that you have plenty of, Carra my dear.’ 
     She rested her head on his arm. ‘Thank you. How long will you stay?’ 
     ‘I must leave soon, before the winter sets in properly. It will be warmer in Gaul.’ 
     ‘How will you travel, having the baby to look after?’ 
     ‘I will return with Cewlin and Toreal,’ said Galahad. ‘Paulinus can ride in the coach at least until we reach the channel. King Cynric has guaranteed us a safe passage across the sea from there.’ 
     ‘I will release Gwyndora to care for him on the journey to the coast,’ said Carra. 
     They looked across at where Toreal stood between Ædred and Roxana on the other side of the grave as the Archbishop prayed over the coffin upon which Ædred had engraved the motto “SORROR AVE VIVAS IN DEO”. Eventually, the prayer was finished and the coffin lowered into the ground. The last journey of Queen Ædra of Britannia was a very short one.


     The messenged walked into the Basilica, his head high, as he anticipated his imminent reward. The Holy Father greeted him warmly despite the cold wind which blew down from the distant mountains. 
     ‘Is it done?’ asked the Pontiff. 
     ‘It is, Holy Father,’ replied the messenger, bowing low. 
     ‘You have dealt with this Ædra of Britannia?’ 
     ‘Yes, Mighty One. The Cardinal was successful in infiltrating her court and supervised the matter personally.’ 
     ‘Then the way is now clear for us to establish our domination?’ 
     ‘Yes, Holy Father. We can now send in our representatives to convert the people. There are, also, men there who can be bought.’ 
     ‘You have done well, Bucatti.’ 
     ‘I did it for the Great Church of Rome, Eternal One.’ 
     ‘You shall be well rewarded.’ 
     ‘Holy Father,’ the priest warned. ‘I regret it may not yet be easy to change all the people. She was a thorn in our side but will be missed by many in Britannia.’ 
     ‘She will soon be forgotten.’ 
     ‘I hope so, Holy Father. Her death was not glorious.’ 
     The Pontiff slowly got to his feet. ‘Did you say her...death?’ 
     ‘Of course, Holy Father.’ He seemed puzzled. ‘Is that not what you wanted?’ 
     ‘You imbecile, you stupid fool. You have ruined everything.’ 
     ‘But, Holy Father. You said you wanted her removed.’ 
     ‘Removed, yes. Discredited, if possible. Burnt as a witch, magnificent. But not assassinated.’ 
     ‘But...why not?’ 
     ‘You don’t know what you’ve done, do you? While she lived, there was the chance of blackening her name somehow, or buying her off. But now she is dead, she has won. They will make a martyr of her. Do you not realise that, alive, she was a nuisance. Dead, she is a severe handicap. Now, it will take many years to establish ourselves in Britannia. That girl will accomplish more with her death than she did in all her life.’ 

EPILOGUE


     The wind was cold as the coach drew up at the quayside near PortcÆstra. The journey south had taken many days, but now they were here. It had been a terrible trip and Galahad had added to the misery by remembering the good times he and Ædra had spent together. He reflected on their first meeting when he had thought her an angel and she had thought him to be the Christ. He also thought of the battles which had been fought, her bravery and her disarming smile. 
     The wooden wheels of the carriage rumbled on the frosty road as they left UincÆstra on the last leg towards the south coast. King Cynric had persuaded Galahad to accompany them for both safety and for company but there was also another reason. Young Paulinus would be able to travel inside the coach with Toreal and Gwyndora. 
     Although Carra had insisted on sending the Maid of Honour with Toreal and the baby, he had seen little of either of them on the journey southwards. Gwyndora had caught a chill in Ebor and had needed to be kept inside the coach, in the warm, and Toreal had spent the journey looking after both the baby and the maid while Galahad rode alongside on horseback. Toreal was so like Ædra, Galahad mused, caring for others even at such a time of crisis and personal distress. 
     They arrived at the dock in time to catch the wind and tide, just as the first grey mists swirled in from the sea. At the dockside stood the ship which would take Galahad and Paulinus to Gaul; in the estuary, the boats that would accompany it to ensure a safe crossing to Rouen. 
     It was appropriate, somehow, that it should be Toreal who should come to see him off in the half-light of this solemn January dawn. They had been through so much together and had both benefited considerably from Ædra’s presence and kindness. 
     Toreal regally climbed down from the carriage and slipped her free arm around Galahad’s waist, holding him tightly as the cold wind blew around them causing the loose snowflakes to scurry about like a plague of demented insects. Galahad gently stroked her hair as her head rested on his chest and he dreamt for a moment before reality penetrated once again. He thought of how things had changed over the last few years, how Ædra had struggled to unite a people deeply divided by religious and ethnic differences and how she had succeeded only by her personal energy and sacrifice. Things would never be the same again. 
     It was with regret that Galahad took his arm from around Toreal’s shoulders as she opened the bag at her feet and lifted out the Book. 
     ‘You must take it,’ she said. ‘It is, by rights, now the property of young Paulinus.’ 
     ‘Perhaps it could be put to better use here, in Britannia.’ 
     ‘I think not, Galahad, my friend. There has been another inscription added.’ 
     ‘By whom?’ he asked, puzzled. 
     She opened the fly leaf for him. ‘It is signed Archbishop Emilio Broghanzani.’ 
     His tear-filled eyes could not read it. ‘What does it say?’ 
     ‘It is the same Latin inscription that was on Ædra’s coffin,’ she said, reading. ‘Sorer ave vivas in Deo.’ 
     ‘Hail, sister. May you live in God,’ he remembered. 
     Toreal smiled. ‘Appropriate, isn’t it?’ 
     ‘It would be,’ he replied; ‘If she truly was still alive.’ 
     ‘Have faith, my friend,’ she said and after kissing him, turned to the carriage. ‘Oh, by the way,’ she said. ‘Paulinus will need a nursemaid.’ 
     ‘But...’ he began. 
     ‘I insist. Gwyndora is now fully recovered from her chill, so she will come with you to Gaul and care for the baby.’ She smiled a wicked smile. ‘She might also keep you warm.’ 
     ‘Toreal!’ He was playfully angry. ‘I like Gwyndora very much, but there has only ever been one woman for me and there will never be another who will come close. No one could replace Ædra.’ 
     ‘As you wish,’ Toreal shrugged, walked to the carriage and held out her hand to the maid who descended from it, dressed in a long cape that was tightly pulled around her and the baby to keep out the cold, and a large hood which was pulled up against the icy wind. Toreal smiled as the ex-sacrifice from Vercovicium walked to Galahad with head bowed, curtsied before them both and stepped onto the boat. The Princess of Westseax waved out of the window as the coach drew away while Galahad stood on the old wooden quayside. With a last look at Britannia, he stepped into the boat as it was cast off. 
     They headed out of the harbour as the sky began to lighten a little more and Galahad forced himself to think ahead. He now had to be both father and mother to his young child. Certainly, the loyal Gwyndora could help, but a maid was not the same as a mother. Perhaps Paulinus would become the missionary son Ædra had wanted. He would certainly do what he could to bring about her last wish. Galahad looked towards his son in the arms of the maid and smiled a little as she parted the folds of her white chemise and placed the baby to her swelling breast to feed. 
     Ahead of him was the open sea. Behind him, the fast-disappearing coast of Britannia. Beside him, he heard the frantic sucking of his hungry baby and it was then that he first suspected that something was wrong. 
     He turned, suddenly, and looked towards them in the half light. The boat was rocking gently in the swell as the sailors raised the big sail. In the middle of it all was a typical picture of a mother and her child, only this was not the mother of his child. But who was it? There was something about this Gwyndora which did not fit, and how was it that this thirteen-year-old virgin could provide milk for his son? 
     Dropping to his knees before her, his heart was in his mouth as he gently lifted the girl’s chin with his hand and she looked up at him in the poor light. Instead of seeing the dark-brown eyes of the Northumbrian Maid of Honour, he found himself looking straight into the bluest pair of eyes that he had ever seen in his life. 
     He was puzzled for a moment as he stared at her, fighting to believe the evidence of his own eyes, until she smiled and, carefully, he raised his hands and pushed the hood back from her head and shook her long hair free. She smiled. ‘Hello, Galahad.’ 
     One by one, he began to remember all the various events of the last couple of weeks that had been puzzling him: the secret meetings between Ædra and the Cardinal and between Emilio and Igor; the “maid” who had kept herself carefully hidden from everyone’s sight since just before the funeral. The image of a certain fair-haired girl laying, disfigured, in the back of a cart. All these things flashed through his mind and he suddenly realised that, apart from a handful of co-conspirators, his beloved Ædra had fooled them all. 
     The girl’s head went on one side as Galahad continued to stare before throwing back his head and laughing. The others joined in as Paulinus continued to suck at his mother’s breast, oblivious to the momentous events going on around him. The wind was still cold, the sky still overcast, but here, right before him, the golden sun was shining as brightly as ever.