Shadow of the King

hadow

S
of the
ing

K

Book Three of The Pendragon’s Banner Trilogy

Helen

Hollick

Copyright © 2010 by Helen Hollick

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The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used ficti-

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not intended by the author.

Published by Sourcebooks Landmark, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.

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Originally published in 1997 by St. Martin’s Press.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Hollick, Helen.

Shadow of the king / Helen Hollick.

p. cm. — (The Pendragon’s banner trilogy ; bk. 3)

1. Arthur, King—Fiction. 2. Great Britain—Kings and rulers—Fiction. 3.

Great Britain—History—To 1066—Fiction. 4. Britons—Fiction. I. Title.

PR6058.O4464S48 2010

823’.914—dc22

2009046040

Printed and bound in the United States of America.

VP 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Also by Helen Hollick

The Kingmaking: Book One of the Pendragon’s Banner Trilogy

Pendragon’s Banner: Book Two of the Pendragon’s Banner Trilogy

Harold the King: The Story of the Battle of Hastings

Sea Witch: The First Voyage of Pirate Cpt. Jesamiah Acorne

Pirate Code: The Second Voyage of Cpt. Jesamiah Acorne

The Forever Queen: The Story of Emma, Queen of Saxon England

For children:

Come and Tell Me: A Keep Yourself Safe Story

In memory of Hazel,

who shared adventure, laughter, and a few tears.

And who is still more to me than just a friend.

Britain and Gaul circa 500

Aesc

issue

Cadwy

Ambrosius

Hengest (d)

Aurelianus (Emrys)

illegitimate

Vitolinus

(d) = dead

Rowena (d)

Sister

(d)

Geraint

Sister

(d)

Elen

(d)

Vortigern (d) m (2)

Ectha

(d)

Bedwyr

Winifred m (2) Leofric (d)

Uthr

(d)

Cei

(d)

Cerdic

Morgaine

m (2)

m Arthur m (1)

Archfedd

Morgause

(2)

Amr

(d)

FAMILY TREE

(d)

(d)

(1) m Ygrainne

Gwenhwyfar

Gwydre

Etern

(d)

(d)

Llacheu

Dogmail

Abloyc

Dunaut

Owain

Cunedda (d) m Gwawl (d)

Rumaun

Ceredig

Circa AD 468

Enniaun

Catwalaun Lawhir

(d)

Osmail

(d)

Typiaunan

Meriaun

Places

Britain

Alclud

Dumbarton

Ambrosdun Prima

Ambersbury Banks, Essex

Ambrosdun Secunda

Loughton Camp, Essex

Ambrosium

Amesbury, Wiltshire

Anderida

Pevensey

Badon

Liddington (Castle)

Caer Cadan

Cadbury (Castle), Somerset

Caer Gloui

Gloucester

Caer Lueil

Carlisle

Caer Rhuthun

Rhuthun, North Wales

Castellum Prima

Barbury (Castle)

Cerdicesford/Camlann

Charford, on the River Avon

Cerdicesora

Christchurch Harbour

Chalk Hills

Chilterns

Cille Ham

Chillham, Kent

Corinium

Cirencester

Comovii

Cornwall

Cwm Dolydd

Lea Valley

Deva

Chester

Din Dergel

Tintagel

Durotrigia

Dorset

Durnovaria

Dorchester

Durovernum

Canterbury

Fortress of 3rd Ambrosiani

Higham Hill, Walthamstow

Great Wood

New Forest

Guoloph

Over Wallop, Hampshire

Hibernia

Ireland

Iceni Way

Icknield Way

Lindinis

Ilchester

Llan Illtud Fawr

Llantwit Major

Llongborth/Portus Adurni

Portchester

Londinium

London

Môn

Anglesey

Muchinga

Mucking, Essex

Noviomagus

Chichester

Radingas

Reading

Rutupiae

Richborough

Tanatus

Thanet

Vectis

Isle of Wight

Venta Bulgarium

Winchester

Vercovicium

Housesteads (Hadrian’s Wall)

Vicus

Wickham

White Hills

Mendips (Wookey Hole)

Wooded Ridge

Epping Forest

Yns Witrin

Glastonbury Tor

Gaul

Antessiodurum

Auxerre

Avaricum

Bourges

Augustonemtum

Clermont Ferrand

Bononia

Boulogne

Caesarodunum

Tours

Condivicnum

Nantes

Dariorigum

Vannes

Juliomagus

Angers

Lutetia

Paris

Place of the Lady

Vezelay

Place of Stones

Carnac

Vicus Dolensis

Deols

Rivers

Cuneito

Kennet

Dolydd

Lea

Hafren

Severn

Liger

Loire

Meduway

Medway

Rhenus

Rhine

Tamesis

Thames

Terste

Test, Hampshire

Part One

The Ragged Edge

One

May 468

Above the great height of Caer Cadan, the sky swept blue and

almost cloudless. The bright, sparkling blue of an exuberant spring that

was rushing headlong into the promised warmth of summer.

The flowers along the already dry and dusty lane that ran around the base

of the stronghold were massed in a profusion of splendid colour. Gwenhwyfar

was gathering healing plants—bugle for bruising, poor robin, a renowned

cure-all—and flowers for their colour and scent to brighten her chamber:

campion; the meadow goldfinch, that some called broom; wild parsley;

cuckoo pint…She darted forward to snatch her fifteen-month-old daughter’s

hand from clutching a butterfly. The child’s wail of protest heaved like a cast

war-spear up to the soaring sky, hurtling past the defensive earthworks of

high banks and deep ditches.

The guard on watch, slowly pacing the wooden rampart walkway, heard and

looked down, concerned. Grinned to himself as he watched Gwenhwyfar hug

the child and soothe her. It was a glorious day, and all seemed well with Arthur

Pendragon’s Kingdom of Britain.

Archfedd, a fat-as-butter child, was much like her mother: copper-bright,

unruly hair; green eyes flecked with tawny sparks of gold; set, determined

expression. She reached again for the butterfly, the sobs coming louder as it

fluttered out of harm’s way.

Gwenhwyfar chided her. “Hush child! They are not for catching; you will

tear the wings.” And she had the temper and mule-stubborn pride of her father,

Arthur, the Supreme King. Gwenhwyfar neatly deflected the rising anger by

giving the child a handful of flowers to hold. The girl’s squawks subsided into

a few half-hearted, tearful breaths as she absorbed herself with the new occupa-

tion of systematically shredding the petals. Gwenhwyfar left her to it. Better

petals than wings.

Horses! The thud of hooves, jingle of harness.

4 H e l e n H o l l i c k

The lane twisted away from Gwenhwyfar’s line of sight, slipping between

earth banks topped with wattle fencing made from entwined hawthorn and

hazel. In the pasture beyond, mares grazing content on the new spring grass

lifted their heads and began to prance, snorting, into a bouncing, high-stepping,

exaggerated trot. Their foals, those that had them, ran at heel, long-legged and

gangling, with bushed, fluffy tails twirling in a frenzy from this sudden excite-

ment. A stallion answered the mares’ showing-off with a trumpeting call, and

the sound of horses approaching came closer, nearer. They would be around

the bend, in view, soon.

Gwenhwyfar lifted her daughter, settled her comfortably on her hip, legs

around her waist, and stood looking along the hoof-rutted, narrow lane; waiting,

expectant, and hopeful, her heart thumping. The banner she saw first, bobbing

above the fenced, man-built banks; the bright white of the linen and the proud,

bold, red dragon with its gold-embroidered eye and claws. Arthur! Her husband

was home!

Running a few steps with initial pleasure, Gwenhwyfar halted, suddenly

undecided, a great clasp of insecurity and fear gripping her. She stood, again

waiting, apprehensive, chewing her lower lip. What had he decided after this

week of discussion with his uncle? Had Ambrosius Aurelianus persuaded him?

Ah, but then, the Pendragon would not need much convincing. Wherever

there was the prospect of a fight Arthur would find some excuse to be there.

The lead horses came into view, the king’s escort, the riders wearing the

uniform of the Artoriani, white padded tunics, red cloaks. Then the Pendragon’s

banner and the turma’s own emblem—and Arthur himself, riding easy in the

saddle, his face lighting with pleasure as he saw Gwenhwyfar and his daughter

waiting for him. The happiness faded as he drew rein, looked directly into

his wife’s eyes. He waved the men on, watched impassive as they jog-trotted

past and began to make way up the cobbled track that sprinted steeply to the

gateway into the king’s stronghold.

Shifting Archfedd to her other hip, Gwenhwyfar returned Arthur’s stare. He

ran his hand down his stallion’s chestnut neck, almost an uneasy gesture.

“You are going then?” she said, more as a statement than question.