Chapter 10 #2
Cordelia felt tears well in her eyes, her father looked frail, stooped, a shadow of his former self and, although she knew he would eventually regain his strength, it made her realise he was fallible, an old man who would one day die and leave her.
Maglaurus and Henwinus, who had been helping to administer the hill fort since Lear’s illness, stood either side of him, and when the immediate wave of cheering subsided, Lear banged his stick on the ground.
Silence fell as the two men helped Lear to the ornately carved chair positioned beside the menhir.
Goneril hurried forward to help settle him, arranging his robes and ensuring he was comfortable before he dismissed her with a wave.
‘My people,’ he called and there was a murmur of respect in response. ‘My daughters,’ he raised his hand to acknowledge them, ‘these have been hard days and I thank you for your incantations.’
A ripple of affection and appreciation filled the meeting place. Cordelia heard Locrinus cheer in his hoarse, gravelly voice.
‘As I lay recovering, it gave me time to think and I explored the possibility of what might have happened had I died. It haunted me.’
There were responding whispers and the rustling of clothes as the villagers, a few of the elders, men who had grown up with Lear, called encouragingly, acknowledging these fears had also been their own. With no strong leader, the oppidum had felt a frisson of danger.
‘My son, my firstborn, died within a few days of his birth,’ continued Lear, ‘and since then, I have been given only daughters. It has long perplexed me. Why do I lack sons? Why is there no one to inherit my legacy?’
Again he gazed around, the sunlight glinting on the tiny amethysts sewn onto his eye patch. An uneasy quiet seeped through the assembly as he allowed the silence to grow, staring from person to person, before shifting in his seat to look towards Goneril, Regan and Cordelia.
‘Yet,’ he said and his voice sank to a low, angry growl as he gazed from Goneril to Regan to Cordelia, ‘I have daughters. Women who could provide me with grandsons, heirs. A dynasty.’
Beside her, Cordelia felt Goneril twitch. She glanced at her sister’s face, but it was impassive. Regan was in shadow, her expression unreadable, but Cordelia could see the tension in the set of her shoulders.
‘My daughters, come forward,’ Lear said.
‘Fa…’ they murmured, stepping towards his chair, bowing their respect.
‘My girls. My loving children,’ he murmured, but his voice had taken on a strange, dark timbre. ‘How much do you love me?’
The three sisters exchanged a confused glance.
‘Goneril, you are my eldest, tell me, how much do you love me?’
Goneril stared around her in desperation. Cordelia reached for her older sister’s hand and squeezed it, Regan took Goneril’s other hand.
‘Hurry, child,’ said Lear. ‘I have no patience for your feminine dullness.’
The unease of the watching crowd expanded and Cordelia started as the rook cawed again. Its voice loud, urgent, a warning.
‘Fa, you know how much I love you,’ said Goneril, stammering slightly. ‘My love for you is greater than the sky above, than the sun that ripens our crops, than the rain that nourishes the land. I love you beyond all of nature’s bounty. As much as any child can love a father.’
‘And you, Regan?’
‘As much as Goneril and more,’ she said, confusion in her voice.
‘Tell me.’
‘I love you as much as the gold in our strongbox, more than the salt from our mines, more than the spices from our trades with our neighbours, more than the animals in our oppidum that give us food. I love you more than my heart.’
Regan’s shoulders relaxed as her words caused a smile to flicker across their father’s face.
Lear turned his attention to Cordelia.
‘And Cordelia?’
All three sisters continued to grasp each other’s hands, to show their support for each other as their father humiliated them in front of their people.
‘What is this, Fa?’ Cordelia asked in a soft voice. ‘Why do you question our love? You know you are our world.’
‘Am I?’ he said. ‘So why were you dancing when I fell? Why were you not at my side but were entertaining men.’
A stunned silence swept across the tribe like a wave. No one had ever heard Lear speak in such a manner, especially to his beloved daughters.
‘Lear, stop,’ came Locrinus’s voice, but Lear held up a hand to silence his old friend.
‘Tell me, Cordelia, how much do you love me?’
They stared at each other, the glowering man and his youngest child.
‘You know how much I love you,’ she replied.
‘Stubborn,’ said Lear and there was a cold smile on his lips. ‘Do you think you are above my rule? With your trances and your prophecies, your ridiculous shows of madness that mean no more than the jarring caw of the rook in the tree. You are no daughter of mine.’
‘Fa, what are you saying?’ said Cordelia in horror. ‘I love you.’
‘Do you, faithless creature? What will you do to prove it?’
‘Nothing,’ she replied. ‘I will do nothing, because love is not something that can be measured like grain or gold or salt. Love is a thousand small gestures, a smile, a kindness, a lifetime of caring. No two people love in the same way, no one can define the true meaning of love because it is as different as each person here. My love for you is that of a daughter for her father, the deepest respect and regard, but also the joy of knowing I am loved in return.’
‘You are loved in return?’ sneered Lear. ‘What makes you think I would waste my love on a foolish wretch like you? Your sisters have told me of their love, why won’t you?’
Cordelia stared at her father, but she did not respond, holding his gaze until he looked away with a derisive snort.
He beckoned to Dardan, who walked forward with an ornately decorated tablet.
The large square of wood was covered in a layer of wax and it was used for declarations and important announcements within the tribe.
‘Listen and listen well,’ declared Dardan as he did before every binding decree from Lear, but whereas this was usually followed by a cheer of enthusiasm, the crowd remained quiet.
Lear handed his stick to Dardan and held the wax tablet aloft.
‘I, Lear Bladudsunu, King of Britain, chieftain of the tribe of the Golden Valley in the region of Dobvnni, do decree that in order for my daughters, Goneril, Regan and Cordelia, to inherit my lands, they must prove their love,’ he read.
‘Tomorrow, at the highest point of the sun, Goneril will marry Maglaurus of the Albany tribe; Regan will be bride to Henwinus of the Dvmnonii people and Cordelia will marry Ebraucus of the Brigantes tribe. All three will be given dowries of gold worth a third of my kingdom and whomever gives me a son first will rule this land when I am dead—’
‘But I’m a high priestess, your shaman,’ Cordelia protested, approaching her father’s chair. ‘I have taken an oath never to marry—’
‘Do you refuse my request?’ thundered Lear, handing the wax tablet to Dardan and wrenching his stick back into his hands.
‘Yes,’ she replied, leaning towards him, supplicating. ‘You’re confused, Fa. You know my words to the goddess are sacred and can’t be broken—’
The blow from her father’s calloused hand halted her words and sent her flying to the ground, where the red earth of the meeting place was dry with dust, unyielding and unforgiving as stone.
Cordelia did not scream, she was too stunned to respond, instead she remained where she fell, breathing deeply as she tried to control her tears.
Behind her, Goneril and Regan gasped in dismay, while the crowd murmured in dissent.
Whether the people’s anger was aimed towards her or her father, Cordelia was unsure.
A shadow loomed over her. Lear had risen from his throne and glowered down at her.
‘Unnatural and ungrateful child,’ he hissed, his one eye narrowed. ‘For this outburst, you shall have no dowry.’
‘Then I refuse to marry her,’ said Ebraucus, who smirked.
He appeared to be amused, rather than horrified, by the day’s events.
‘I want a wife who will obey me without question. This woman has too high an opinion of herself. With a dowry, her looks would have made up for the strangeness, which no doubt could have been whipped out of her, but with nothing to compensate me, then I refuse.’
Lear spat at Cordelia’s feet and raised his walking stick above her head.
‘No!’ shouted several voices, including Lagon and Locrinus, who had run forward to intercept Lear.
Cordelia sprang to her feet, putting distance between herself and her father, preparing to defend herself. She would not allow him to lay hands on her again.
‘What use are you without a husband?’ sneered Lear.
‘Perhaps we should burn you at the next solstice instead of a straw man? It might make the gods show me favour. Your goddesses have never helped further my male line. You are nothing but a useless mouth to feed. Your histrionics as shaman are worth less than nothing, so what shall I do with you? Lock you in the oubliette with the grain? Or perhaps throw you down the old well?’
‘Fa, you’re ill, you don’t know what you’re saying,’ said Cordelia, but she could feel the sweat of fear trickling down her back.
Her father raised his hand, beckoning two of their tallest warriors.
‘Take her to the tomb on the east side of the oppidum and block the entrance, let her ask the ancients for help until I decide what to do with her…’
‘I will wed her,’ said Aganippus, his voice cold, cutting across Lear’s diatribe like a winter storm.
‘Why would you shackle yourself to her?’ said Lear. ‘She has no dowry.’
‘I have no need of gold.’
Cordelia saw Aganippus’s eyes flash with anger, but she knew his fury was not aimed at her.
‘Very well,’ said Lear dismissively. ‘You will wed Cordelia and take her from my sight.’
Cordelia opened her mouth to protest, but both Aganippus and Locrinus shook their heads, warning her to remain quiet.
‘I shall also wed,’ Lear announced and the crowd radiated deep unease. ‘Perhaps I shall win the race of the heirs and then my useless daughters will be left with nothing. My son shall be showered with gold.’
‘Old friend,’ said Locrinus, his tone gentle, ‘what jest is this? You plan to marry again when you swore you would never take another to wife after the death of Estrildis? Who do you intend to honour as your queen?’
There was a scream and two men whom Cordelia did not recognise emerged from the temple, dragging Angarad between them. Three more emerged: one grasped Becuma’s arm, another held onto the twins, Gloigin and Ignogin, while the final man pushed Oudar in front of him.
‘As from this moment, the temple will no longer be a haven of female worship!’ bellowed Lear.
‘The Matronae and her Bee Maidens are no more, instead my new priests’ – he swept his hand to include the men who were dragging the priestesses forward and a group of ten more who emerged from the shadows behind the stone circle – ‘will lead worship to Neit, the god of war. I shall marry Angarad and show her who holds the balance of power in this tribe.’
He indicated to the two men who held Angarad to throw her at his feet.
‘You will be my wife and you will provide an heir or you will be sacrificed at the next summer solstice,’ he declared, before beckoning to the men to help him return to his roundhouse.
Maglaurus and Henwinus had taken their places beside Goneril and Regan, all four shocked and pale. Aganippus and Lagon were either side of Cordelia, with Locrinus a few steps away. There was silence as the two men supported Lear as he stumbled to his roundhouse.
He paused in the doorway and roared, ‘Tomorrow, we will wed and soon I shall have my heir!’
The curtain over the entrance was dropped into place and he was hidden from view.