army!”
He spoke to Aelfred, looked at Vitolinus.
6 6 H e l e n H o l l i c k
Aesc’s nephew, resting his elbow on the gate, nestled his chin on his cupped
hand, pointing with the other, offered, “You can have that black and tan,
she’s small but seems game.” He straightened, threaded his fingers through
the baldric slung diagonally across his chest. “I need no payment, only an oath
of loyalty.”
There was no hesitant thought, no decision-making; Cuthbert was instantly
on his knees before his young lord. “Need you offer reward for such a thing?”
he asked, “You have my loyalty without condition.”
Aelfred too, knelt, “And mine.” His features were earnest, sincere. “And
many another, were you to ask!”
Touching their heads with his fingertips Vitolinus nodded grimly. He was
heartsick of this unquestioned obedience to the Pendragon, heartsick of being
treated as a child, a useless nothing. He was ten and six, old enough to lead men;
the son of Vortigern, grandson of Hengest, old enough to try for a kingdom of
his own. His father’s kingdom; the kingdom Arthur had stolen.
As if reading his thoughts Cuthbert stated, “If Aesc will not help you gain
what by birthright is yours, then there are plenty of us who will. We are
warrior-born, the sons of warriors, we wish to use the spear and sword, not the
plough and pitchfork.”
Vitolinus smiled, a scheming, unkind smile that sat well on his weasel-like
face. He knew those sentiments ran in the blood of the young men, knew
and fostered them! He would be king of Britain! To take everything from
Arthur and with the same sword-thrust, keep the prize from the greed of his
sister Winifred! That was his double ambition. And ambition had to be tickled
at the right moments. If Arthur’s hold was to be defeated, it had to be done
now. Now, while he was over the sea, while the God-mumbling Ambrosius
Aurelianus was fumbling his way around in the dark.
His smile widened, the glint in his blue eyes triumphant, gloating. “Then
I see no reason to plod behind dull-minded oxen any longer!” He raised his
companions to their feet, cuffing each of them affectionately around the ears.
“Pass word to all who would give me their pledge. I will be going from here at
the rising of the new moon, five days hence, to prepare to take my kingdom.
I will wait at Cille Ham, while the moon swells three nights for any who wish
to join me.”
Stroking the shadowed beard-growth around his chin, Aelfred considered
Vitolinus’s proposal. “It will not be easy to send out word without the older
folk knowing, but it can be done.”
S h a d o w o f t h e k i n g 6 7
Cuthbert asked, hesitant, for he had no wish to offend, “Cille is old, is he
trustworthy? ’Tis the older men who side with Aesc’s decisions.”
Vitolinus sauntered across to the door, patting his friend’s shoulder in a
fatherly manner as he passed. “Cille, in most circumstances, I would not trust
even if my life depended on it! But he fought when he was our age with the
great Hengest against Arthur, at that time when the British took final victory. I
know for certain he has an old itch that he yearns to scratch.” He had reached
the door, had it open. “He will support us.”
Eighteen
April 469
Never before had Cadwy defied his father. Never before had he
found the courage to do so. But this? This was unacceptable, horrible.
He stood before Ambrosius, uncomfortable from the press of the crutch
beneath his armpit despite the leather and straw padding along the crossbar.
Stood as straight as his deformity allowed. “No,” he declared, raising his chin
with as much pride as he could muster. “No, I will not offer myself to God, I
will not take holy orders.”
Ambrosius was clearly shocked, for he seated himself, took an over-large
gulp of wine. No? No! What was this from his son, what was this defiance?
Calm, swallowing anger, Ambrosius said, “There is
He spoke to Aelfred, looked at Vitolinus.
6 6 H e l e n H o l l i c k
Aesc’s nephew, resting his elbow on the gate, nestled his chin on his cupped
hand, pointing with the other, offered, “You can have that black and tan,
she’s small but seems game.” He straightened, threaded his fingers through
the baldric slung diagonally across his chest. “I need no payment, only an oath
of loyalty.”
There was no hesitant thought, no decision-making; Cuthbert was instantly
on his knees before his young lord. “Need you offer reward for such a thing?”
he asked, “You have my loyalty without condition.”
Aelfred too, knelt, “And mine.” His features were earnest, sincere. “And
many another, were you to ask!”
Touching their heads with his fingertips Vitolinus nodded grimly. He was
heartsick of this unquestioned obedience to the Pendragon, heartsick of being
treated as a child, a useless nothing. He was ten and six, old enough to lead men;
the son of Vortigern, grandson of Hengest, old enough to try for a kingdom of
his own. His father’s kingdom; the kingdom Arthur had stolen.
As if reading his thoughts Cuthbert stated, “If Aesc will not help you gain
what by birthright is yours, then there are plenty of us who will. We are
warrior-born, the sons of warriors, we wish to use the spear and sword, not the
plough and pitchfork.”
Vitolinus smiled, a scheming, unkind smile that sat well on his weasel-like
face. He knew those sentiments ran in the blood of the young men, knew
and fostered them! He would be king of Britain! To take everything from
Arthur and with the same sword-thrust, keep the prize from the greed of his
sister Winifred! That was his double ambition. And ambition had to be tickled
at the right moments. If Arthur’s hold was to be defeated, it had to be done
now. Now, while he was over the sea, while the God-mumbling Ambrosius
Aurelianus was fumbling his way around in the dark.
His smile widened, the glint in his blue eyes triumphant, gloating. “Then
I see no reason to plod behind dull-minded oxen any longer!” He raised his
companions to their feet, cuffing each of them affectionately around the ears.
“Pass word to all who would give me their pledge. I will be going from here at
the rising of the new moon, five days hence, to prepare to take my kingdom.
I will wait at Cille Ham, while the moon swells three nights for any who wish
to join me.”
Stroking the shadowed beard-growth around his chin, Aelfred considered
Vitolinus’s proposal. “It will not be easy to send out word without the older
folk knowing, but it can be done.”
S h a d o w o f t h e k i n g 6 7
Cuthbert asked, hesitant, for he had no wish to offend, “Cille is old, is he
trustworthy? ’Tis the older men who side with Aesc’s decisions.”
Vitolinus sauntered across to the door, patting his friend’s shoulder in a
fatherly manner as he passed. “Cille, in most circumstances, I would not trust
even if my life depended on it! But he fought when he was our age with the
great Hengest against Arthur, at that time when the British took final victory. I
know for certain he has an old itch that he yearns to scratch.” He had reached
the door, had it open. “He will support us.”
Eighteen
April 469
Never before had Cadwy defied his father. Never before had he
found the courage to do so. But this? This was unacceptable, horrible.
He stood before Ambrosius, uncomfortable from the press of the crutch
beneath his armpit despite the leather and straw padding along the crossbar.
Stood as straight as his deformity allowed. “No,” he declared, raising his chin
with as much pride as he could muster. “No, I will not offer myself to God, I
will not take holy orders.”
Ambrosius was clearly shocked, for he seated himself, took an over-large
gulp of wine. No? No! What was this from his son, what was this defiance?
Calm, swallowing anger, Ambrosius said, “There is
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