Chapter 25
Cordelia stretched under the sheet and smiled.
‘You’re awake,’ murmured a sleepy voice beside her.
‘Yes, husband, the sun is already in the sky, yet we slumber,’ she replied, feeling for Aganippus under the cool linen.
‘I’m king,’ he said, tracing his fingers across the silver lines on her arms before kissing her. ‘I can do as I please.’
Cordelia laughed, succumbing to his embrace, wondering if she might soon be with child again.
It was a year since she had left her father’s hill fort in the Golden Valley and a great deal had changed.
Upon arrival at Aganippus’s kingdom, he had introduced her to the tribe.
Cordelia had believed the hill fort where she had grown up to be large, but Gallia was a vast country with hundreds of settlements, all under the auspices of Aganippus.
The oppidum Aganippus used as his main home was on the coast in the settlement of Venelli, within the region of Aremoria.
She had stared in awe at the seemingly endless number of roundhouses stretching across the high ridge of the settlement looking out to sea.
Other buildings were interspersed, which she later discovered were for storage for each family group.
A huge square hall, similar to the one at the Belgae fort, dominated the central area of the oppidum.
A short walk from its vast carved entrance doors was a menhir, similar to the stone at her father’s fort, and for a moment, she had been overwhelmed by homesickness.
The stone was tall and carved with the names of the kings and queens of the tribe.
‘Your name will be added,’ Aganippus had told her as he had shown her around her new home.
A thrill of excitement had coursed through her as she realised again the importance of this man, her husband, and her elevated position as his queen.
‘One day, I’ll take you to the furthest-flung reaches of my kingdom, but for the present, I feel remaining near the coast of Britain is wise. ’
‘Why?’ she had enquired.
‘Your father is a powerful man and it concerns me what might transpire as he lets loose his new reign of terror,’ Aganippus had replied. ‘With Maglaurus and Henwinus as his allies, his potential reach is vast and dangerous.’
‘My father is ill,’ she had said. ‘He doesn’t have the strength of power or the support he believes. He also offered to split his kingdom to the first of my sisters to provide a son, this must weaken his position.’
‘It will if either of them completes this task,’ Aganippus had said. ‘Babes take time to make and then grow, this will give your father a sizeable interval in which to gather his forces. We must be aware and protect ourselves and our people against his potential wrath.’
Cordelia had felt the grim reality in his words and promised herself she would do all possible to help both the men in her life – her husband and her father.
During her first months as Queen of Gallia, she had worked hard to earn the respect of Aganippus’s people with her kindness and wisdom.
Within a month of their arrival, Becuma had married Buel.
Cordelia was delighted for her friend and admired the way she had adapted to this new and unexpected life.
It was after her vision at the night of the triple sun that Aganippus had invited Spaden the Gaul to travel with them as their honoured guest. Cordelia had separately requested that he might tutor her and he had accepted with alacrity.
‘Our paths are meant to cross for a time,’ he had announced with an enigmatic smile.
Since then, Cordelia had studied under the wisdom of Spaden. Never had she heard or read such tales as those he documented. They were on the rolls of parchments, guarded with honour by Aganippus’s tribe, and kept in the great cavern of the dead on the edge of the settlement she now called home.
Each story was recorded in Spaden’s neat handwriting in the ancient British tongue of her home.
It told the history of Britain from its origins as Albion before it was renamed Britain after the arrival of the Trojan – Brutus.
Even her grandfather Bladud’s story was recorded, which made her dread how the annals would remember her father.
She had no sense of being part of history herself, there were few women in the chronicles and this both irritated and surprised her.
Would she and her sisters become part of the fabric of the past?
A number of bards already used them as the basis for tales, would Spaden believe they were worthy of a place in his history or would they too vanish?
The biggest change was her relationship with Aganippus.
On the first night at the Belgae hill fort, he had shown her into a roundhouse and apologised, ‘My mother is unaware of our marital arrangements and has shown Becuma to the women’s quarters.
I shall sleep on the floor,’ he had said and began gathering armfuls of fur rugs.
‘No,’ Cordelia had said, ‘anyone might see you and we don’t wish there to be any scandal. We shall sleep in the bed together.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes.’ She had dropped her gaze before admitting, ‘I fear being alone tonight after the images I saw in my trance. Your arms would be a welcome solace.’
‘Of course,’ he had murmured.
Cordelia had blushed. While this statement was true, it was not the only reason.
From her first meeting with Aganippus, she had felt the attraction between them, but she had denied her feelings.
She believed her life was set on the path of shamanic ritual and goddess worship, her unexpected destiny towards marriage was not a route she had ever been shown during her wanderings in the Everywhen.
But, she thought, I never searched for answers for myself; whenever I entered the Everywhen, it was for the sake of others.
This thought had caused her great consternation as she wondered what else she had missed.
Ever since their handfasting, Cordelia had become more aware of Aganippus, as though on a subconscious level she had granted herself permission to notice him as a man, to feel desire as a woman, to shed her role as priestess, and with each passing day, her longing to touch him, to kiss him, to feel his skin against hers had been growing.
He had been true to the promise he had made on their wedding day, he had been respectful, caring but distant.
The marriage was new, but she knew she would have to follow his decree, any change in their current situation would have to be at her instigation.
This thought both thrilled and terrified her.
They had prepared for bed and after Aganippus had wished her a goodnight, she had felt bereft as he rolled away, hunkering down beneath the sheet, leaving as large a gap as possible between them in the restricted space.
His gentle snores found her through the heavy night and she felt a sense of loss.
Cordelia had listened to her husband’s breathing, her eyes adjusting to the depth of night allowing her to make out his shape, his face, his hands and she longed to feel his touch.
In the darkest hours, she had curled her body around his and dozed, but even through her sleep she was aware of him and when he rolled over and placed a tentative arm around her, she had kissed him.
He had responded with gentleness at first, murmuring to her, asking her if this was what she desired, running his fingers over her body, exploring her skin, tracing a finger down the silver lines on her arms which had appeared after her father’s accident.
No longer able to resist the tantalising feel of his skin and the smell of his hair, she had kissed him in response and as their kisses deepened, her body had responded in a way she had never before experienced.
She was powerless against her desire and as their passion intensified, he had whispered one last time before he possessed her entirely, ‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes, husband,’ she had replied. ‘I have never been more sure of anything.’
A daughter, Nest, was born nine months later to the day.
* * *
Ever since, Cordelia had believed their marriage had become more powerful.
They understood each other, trusted and respected the judgement of the other, they were united and – she blushed whenever she thought it – in love.
This emotion played across her mind as they lay, drowsy and sated, in each other’s arms, talking and laughing about the day ahead when Buel knocked on the side of the roundhouse.
‘My Lord,’ he called, ‘the watchtower has sent word. A messenger has arrived from the fort of Lear Bladudsunu. He claims to be a friend of the queen and gives his name as Lagon Locrinussunu.’
‘Lagon?’ gasped Cordelia but Aganippus was already on his feet and pulling on his tunic and trousers.
‘I’ll send Becuma to help you dress,’ he said as he hurried to the door, ‘and a guard will be posted outside. I shall take no chances with the safety of you or Nest in case this man is an imposter.’
Cordelia was pouring water from the copper flask and sluicing away the heat of the night from her skin when Becuma hurried through the door carrying a dress of pale green linen.
‘Is it true?’ Becuma asked, handing Cordelia a cloth to dry herself. ‘Buel says a man has arrived claiming to be Lagon.’
‘Aganippus has gone to question him,’ Cordelia said, slipping the dress over her head and sitting on the bed, while Becuma pulled a bone comb through her tangled hair. She tried not to wince as Becuma tackled a stubborn knot.
‘If it is Lagon,’ said Becuma, ‘what could have brought him so far?’
‘My fear is that he bears news of my father’s death,’ said Cordelia, voicing the words that had settled on her heart while she washed and dressed.
‘Or a declaration of war?’ suggested Becuma, braiding Cordelia’s hair before inserting bejewelled combs.
‘No, Lagon would never agree to such a task. If war was his intention, Fa would arrive at the head of an army.’