Chronicle of Ages (45 page)

Bryce lifted the boy to a seat on the bench, where he could address him face to face. ‘This man committed some very grievous crimes against Dyfed, Gwent, and more importantly, the Goddess. Thy father arranged this punishment for Conan, so that he might see the error of his ways, given time. Conan assured me he hast repented
and I believe him.' Bryce looked questioningly at Vortimor to see if he agreed with his judgement.

Vortimor raised his eyebrows and gave a shrug. ‘Well, he surely won't pose much of a threat, even if he hast not.'

Bryce smiled, finding the boy's reasoning quite sound and he was surprised to find he felt rather proud of him. Bryce had always wanted a son, but due to complications with Chloe, Aella had yet to conceive again. So, without any pain to his good wife, the Goddess had graced them with this fine lad, whom any man would be proud to call son.

‘He will be deformed,' said Vortimor surely, saddened by the fact now.

Bryce nodded. ‘But with time and care, who knows? He may yet mend.' He ruffled the lad's hair to raise his spirits. ‘We shall wait and see how bad the damage, and then do all within our power to help him heal.'

Vortimor nodded, the smile returning to his face. ‘We shall see to it personally.' He took the piece of meat from Bryce and ripped into it.

‘We will,' Bryce assured him, as the head maidservant, Elsie, finally emerged from the screened-off area with her assistants.

She alone approached the nobles to give them the diagnosis, bowing to both the Prince and the heir apparent.

It was clear that Elsie barely knew where to begin to list the man's ailments. The patient was weak and thin from malnutrition, and, unable to hold himself upright, had lost the use of his legs. His body was covered by scores
of festering sores that were slowly eating away at his skin and bone. The staff had dressed the worst of these wounds to prevent them from smelling. The patches of Conan's skin that were not open wounds, were covered with bites. The staff had managed to remove most of the parasites from his body when they cut all the hair from Conan's head and face. Hopefully, having exhausted three tubs of water bathing the man, the rest of his infestations had drowned and been washed away.

‘May we see him now?' Vortimor looked to Bryce for permission, and Bryce looked to Elsie.

‘He hast been dressed in a large hooded cloak.' She put to rest the fear that his appearance might disturb the noble child. ‘And hast been given soup, bread and mead. I have done all I can for today.'

‘Most well done, Elsie, we greatly appreciate thy pains,' Bryce excused her.

‘All in a day's work, Highness.' She bowed to them both and departed for the kitchen to catch up on other chores.

 

Behind the curtain, the area was now mopped clean, and Conan sat at a small table, savouring mead from a cup. Most of him was hidden by the hooded robe. Only his hands protruded and even they were a mass of bandages, for he had several fingers missing.

‘If thou art feeling up to it, we have come to see thee to some sleeping quarters, where thee might rest properly,' Bryce said.

The hooded figure waved a finger at the lad. ‘This cannot be …?'

‘Nay.' Bryce quickly corrected Conan's misconception. ‘This be the young heir of Dyfed, Vortimor. The lad thou art mistaking him for be a man, twenty years upon this earth.'

‘Twenty years,' Conan repeated, sounding both amazed and bewildered. ‘Time plays tricks in the dark … every moment lasts an eternity and in a heartbeat twenty years vanish.'

Vortimor left Bryce's side and took a few steps towards Conan. ‘As thou hast endured thy punishment honourably and art of noble birth, we have arranged to have thee stay in one of the guest quarters, until thou art well again. We hope —' The lad ceased to speak as Conan gave a slight chuckle.

‘Forgive me young Protector, I do not mock thee,' he explained, forced to take a moment to regain his breath. ‘I fear this body will not recover, but if it serves me long enough to speak with my son, I shall die a happy man.'

‘Then we will fetch thy son to thee.' Vortimor looked to Bryce.

‘I have already sent word for him to return, and I have sent for the Lord Bishop Samson, also.' Samson had been Conan's childhood tutor and Bryce felt sure he would want to see him.

‘I do not wish my boy to know who I am, just yet,' Conan stated.

‘I have not mentioned the reason why I requested their presence, Conan, but I took the liberty of making haste on thy behalf.' Bryce didn't understand how this man was still alive, but he was certain Conan did not
have long to wait before he would finally be rid of his diseased earthly vessel.

Conan's head bowed low as he silently began to weep again.

‘Why art thou crying?' Vortimor moved closer and gently placed a hand on the ailing man's arm.

‘Thy goodness overwhelms me,' he mumbled. ‘'Tis more than I deserve.'

‘All men art deserving of kindness, Conan,' said Vortimor, ‘but not all men understand that.' The lad handed him a cloth to dry his eyes. ‘We shall keep thy secret and thee shall see thy son, thou hast our word.'

Conan didn't have a chance of regaining his composure, as the boy was breaking Bryce's heart with all his goodwill. The poor lad couldn't work out why, for all his reassurances, his patient wouldn't stop crying.

 

Bridgit had been eight years old when Conan kidnapped her mother during his brief reign of terror, and although she didn't exactly know what had transpired during that terrible time, she did know that her mother had never recovered. Bridgit had been sent off to convent school in Brittany soon after Conan was apprehended, and her mother died whilst she was away. Needless to say the High Queen freaked when she discovered that Conan had surfaced this day and was resting peacefully in quarters close by.

‘Why did thee not kill him?' she demanded to know, rocked by the after-supper conversation around the fire in the Great Hall, where only the noble family were gathered.

‘Well, I offered —' Bryce justified.

‘What dost thou mean, thee offered! Give me a sword and I shall run him through myself!' she decreed, getting up on her high horse.

‘Run him through for what, Majesty?' Her resolve angered Bryce and he snapped from his placid mood into full attack mode.

It was so rare an occurrence for Bryce to lose his cool that everyone paused to take a breath.

‘Thou dost not know the extent of his crimes, nor the time he hast spent in hell to atone for them. I was there and I believe that he hast served his due.'

‘Easy for thee to say. It wast not thy family he destroyed!' Bridgit braved challenging him, which she had never had to do before. ‘I am High Queen of Briton now Bryce, and I order thee to put Conan back in the pit where my father left him to rot and let him do exactly that.'

Bryce was momentarily drawn between his loyalty to state, from which Bridgit's new authority stemmed, and his loyalty to the Goddess within — that gut feeling that told him it was important that Conan be freed. ‘If thee can set foot in Conan's abode of twenty years and to his face condemn him to return there, then I will consider thy judgement well informed.'

Bridgit held her head high in defiance. ‘Lead the way then.'

‘Excellent!' Vortimor jumped to his feet to trail along, as did the other two children, Cadwell and Chloe.

‘Nay princess,' Aella called Chloe back to her by the fire.

‘I think we should all see where our guest has been staying,' Bryce advised his wife. ‘Thee too, my love.' He waved Aella after him and she reluctantly complied with his wish.

 

As the womenfolk cowered in the tunnel entrance to the cavern, repulsed by the smell and the rodents, Bryce was the only one who ventured inside and he had the torch. ‘Come Majesty, thee can get a fair idea of the conditions from above here.' He leaned over the opening to the pit.

‘I can get a fair idea from here,' Bridgit gasped, having lost some of her conviction.

Cadwell and Vortimor ventured a look, with both hands covering their nose and mouth.

‘Grotesque, grandpa,' uttered Cadwell, as he viewed below. ‘Thy father really knew how to torture the bad guys,' he uttered aside to Vortimor in jest.

‘My father wast not like that,' Vortimor defended.

‘Then what be this?' Cadwell argued. ‘A figment of our imagination?'

‘Cadwell …' Bryce pulled him up. ‘So severe a punishment wast not undertaken lightly, and should not be spoken of lightly.'

‘I think thou hast made thy point, Bryce,' Aella reasoned, rather perturbed by the conditions her husband had led their family into to make a statement. ‘These rats and filth cannot be doing the children any good. Can we please leave.'

Bryce moved back to the women so that he might view Bridgit by the light of the torch. ‘Have I made my point, Highness?'

Bridgit's defiant stare melted into a look of defeat and she nodded. ‘I should not have questioned thy judgement.' Bridgit took a stab at an apology. ‘For I see it be justified … thanks for sharing,' she concluded coldly, turning to take her leave of the wretched place, her skirt hoisted high to avoid contact with the slime on the ground.

The look Aella gave Bryce as she departed with their daughter told him he'd best find a spare bed to sleep in this night.

Cadwell had a chuckle at seeing a superior in trouble as he headed out after the women.

‘At least thee achieved our objective,' Vortimor reassured his stepfather, as they lagged behind the others.

As the lad was staggering a little, overdue to his bed, Bryce lifted him up to carry him the rest of the way. ‘That thought will keep me warm tonight.' He poured on a little cheer for the child's benefit.

‘Me too,' Vortimor concurred. ‘I think I am going to like running my Kingdom with thee, Bryce … we did good today.'

Bryce was pleased he thought so, although it still remained to be seen if they had indeed done the right thing in freeing Conan.

 

Urien arrived a few days later, in the company of the Lord Bishop, Samson of Glamorgan.

The young ruler of Gwent was all fired up from the ride. His blue eyes sparkled, his face glowed and his unruly blonde curls were windblown from his journey.
He was a good-sized fellow and although Urien was the youngest on the council, he was bold of character. Urien had never found it necessary to exert any kind of force to get his way and, so far as it was known, he'd never raised a fist in anger. His optimistic and charming ways made some men on the council uneasy, as they were used to being wary and defensive — traits Urien didn't even acknowledge.

‘I realise I am irresistible, Bryce, but could thee just try to live without me for a few days?' Urien pretended to be put out as he approached the Protector of Dyfed, and broke into a smile to shake his hand.

‘I am sorry to drag thee back here already, but a situation hast arisen …' Bryce paused, not wanting to say too much. ‘But before I enlighten thee, I must beg thy patience, for I must first have a word with the Lord Bishop.' Bryce wanted to wince as he said this, for he knew how odd it seemed.

Urien looked from Bryce to Samson, fit to laugh; the Protector clung to the old ways of his people and hadn't the remotest interest in the Roman faith. ‘But thou hast never had two words to say to Samson in the past?'

‘I feel today will be full of surprises,' Bryce advised, motioning his guests to follow him inside.

Urien was more than happy to be left in the company of the ladies, and was delighted to find that Bridgit was still in residence, as he'd always found her easy company.

Bryce led Samson through the house in silence, having no desire whatsoever to become acquainted with him. Bryce's wife subscribed to the Roman faith and he
respected her beliefs, but having witnessed all the otherworldly phenomenon that he had in his lifetime, Bryce would not renounce his own beliefs to suit anyone.

The Lord Bishop was not a young man any more and so their pace was rather slow.

‘I wast leaving for Cadley Island when thy messenger reached me, Highness.' Samson sounded anxious to have the delay explained. ‘My whole family art awaiting me, so that we might depart for our new life.'

‘I feel thy delay be well justified,' Bryce replied, ‘for thou hast unfinished business here on the mainland.'

Samson frowned, bewildered and a little concerned.

Bryce glanced back to catch Samson's reaction as they arrived at the chamber they sought. ‘Fear not. I am certain thou shalt not be detained long.' He invited Samson inside.

When the Lord Bishop beheld the wheezing scrap of a man propped up in the bed before him, he didn't know how to react. ‘Thou hast brought me all this way to give a dying man absolution?' he asked Bryce discreetly.

‘It would take more than a priest to clear my path to God,' croaked Conan, whereby Samson gasped and turned as pale as a sheet.

Upon realising the identity of the hooded figure, he could scarcely believe the transformation. ‘Dear God almighty.'

 

It was evening before Samson surfaced from Conan's chamber.

‘He hast decided to set the record straight,' the Lord Bishop informed the Protector. ‘And he wishes to come down to address those concerned.'

‘The children will be in bed soon, and only those involved shall remain in the Great Hall,' Bryce decided. ‘I shall arrange for a couple of men to bring Conan down to us.'

 

In the Great Hall, Urien was beginning to get testy. He had been waiting around all afternoon for some answers, which no one seemed willing to supply. ‘Well, Aella, I thank thee for thy hospitality.' He rose to make a move.

‘Thou art not leaving?' Aella objected, although only Bryce knew why. Her husband needed Urien here and it was her job to stall him.