Camelot’s Shadow

She picked up her hand loom, set to work on the meaningless weaving, and waited for Euberacon. Sometimes she grew sick of all the time she wasted waiting for the eastern sorcerer. Unfortunately, neither she nor her true mistress were yet strong enough to topple Camelot without great risk, nor could they safely bring Merlin to heel. So they must wait and bide their time and use this foreigner to do as much of their work as he could. Eventually, her mistress would send her messengers across the sea to find this Theodora and offer him up.

A single knock sounded on the door.

‘Enter,’ said Kerra. Once the door had opened wide enough to reveal Euberacon’s dour face, she hastily thrust her weaving into the basket beside her couch. Euberacon’s eyes glittered briefly, thinking he had caught her at some secret work.

Kerra gave him her most radiant smile and rose in greeting.

‘My lord.’ She moved forward, her hands outstretched. As usual, he did not take those hands – Euberacon declined to touch her in any way – and as usual, she lowered them to her sides without comment. ‘This is a pleasure.’

Euberacon did not answer what they both knew to be a false pleasantry. Instead he let his gaze wander about the chamber, taking in what had remained the same – the luxurious couch, the locked chests, the simple hangings, and what had changed – the basket, the wine jar.

Again, Kerra affected not to notice. Instead, she returned to her couch and sat gracefully down. ‘Will you take your rest, my lord?’ she asked; indicating the space beside her, and glancing from beneath her lashes as she did.

The look Euberacon returned her was cold and sour. ‘You should know by now woman, I will not be one of your victims.’

‘That would be sorry payment for all you have given me, my lord.’

‘It would indeed.’ The utter dryness of his voice made Kerra laugh. She reclined on the couch, allowing her skirts to fall so that the shapes of her legs could be discerned beneath the cloth. She did not expect this to inflame Euberacon, only to let him think that she relied on one particular sort of power. He thought her little more than a glorified whore. It suited her to let him continue in that belief.

‘So, tell me, my lord, what of this pretty little thing you went to fetch? She did not come home with you?’

‘She did not. Arthur’s man Gawain intervened.’

Kerra arched her brows. ‘Did he? That is poor luck indeed.’

Her light tone made him glower, as she had known it would. ‘Did you know about this, woman?’

‘I knew he was near that road, no more.’ She gestured towards the window. She had removed its slatted screen to allow the ravens entrance and egress. ‘My friends see much that is useful, but will tell only what they are asked. You did not ask me about Gawain.’

‘It is dangerous to taunt me, Kerra.’

‘And it is dangerous to forget me, my Lord Euberacon,’ she answered sharply.

To her surprise, a smile flitted about his thin lips. ‘Rest assured, Kerra, I know and respect your powers. I do not trifle with you. Your ends suit mine and this petty bickering does not become either one of us. Tell me what your friends have to say regarding Gawain.’

Mollified, but still wary, Kerra stretched out her hand. As she did, a gleaming black raven alighted on the window sill. It croaked once and then hopped obediently onto her wrist, its claws lightly pricking her flesh. She wore no glove to separate herself from the bird. She stared hard into the raven’s dark eyes, seeking the slippery touch of its awareness. Pictures, colours, half-understood images flitted through her thoughts. Slowly, her mind began to make sense of what the bird had seen and add to it her own knowledge. ‘They tell me the pair keep to the old Roman road. That they are seeking speed rather than stealth. This is to our advantage. Were they to take to the woods they might come across Harrik and his men. But ‘ware, for they will stop at Pen Marhas.’

‘Could Gawain turn the tide there?’ muttered Euberacon. ‘For all his prowess, he is but one man.’

‘But where Gawain is, Arthur will be.’ Kerra deposited the bird on the back of the sofa. It glared at Euberacon with one round eye and fussily began setting its feathers in order.

‘That much is the truth.’ Euberacon’s eyes narrowed, seeing something beyond the tower walls. ‘Has Harrik enough men to take them? Is he that firmly your man he would fight against Gawain?’

‘He would fight against God Most High if I asked him to now.’ She smiled, remembering how that had come to pass. Most men turned clumsy in their desperation, but he had the controlled power of a warrior. There had been an unusual pleasure in making Harrik one of hers.

Her thoughts must have shown in her face, because the perpetual disdain of Euberacon’s expression deepened.

Kerra laughed and waved that disdain away. ‘In Harrik, my “husband” Wulfweard is secure and well advised. Harrik is in many ways the better man,’ she mused, and made sure Euberacon saw exactly what she was thinking of. ‘We should have begun with him.’

‘We would have failed,’ said Euberacon bluntly. ‘Our task needs weakness, not strength.’

Kerra shrugged. ‘It is well for you then, my lord, there are so many kinds of weakness.’

‘Yes,’ he murmured more to himself than to her. Kerra felt her own eyes narrow. Had he been scrying the future? What had he seen? One day she must find the way into his tower and his secrets. They would complement her own most sweetly.

‘Have you use for my men?’ she prompted. ‘Or for me?’ She gestured once more to her couch, moving her ankles just a little as if to make room for him.

Euberacon did not move. She had not truly believed he would. Still, one day he might. There were so many kinds of weakness.

‘I need Gawain and the woman separated,’ he said. ‘I need them afraid. It is fear that will make them useful. The fear in their hearts that will give them to us.’

Kerra sat up, leaning close. ‘What have you seen?’

Euberacon smiled. ‘I have seen Arthur’s fall, and I have seen mighty Constantinople. It burns, Kerra. If Gawain fails and Arthur falls, then all Byzantium is mine.’

Kerra smiled, pretending to share his glee. Underneath it, she felt only irritation. It seemed he saw little else for all his learned necromancy and dark mutterings. He could at least come up with a new lie.

Suddenly, she could no longer bear having him in front of her where she would have to smile and play the seductress.

‘Then I had best begin my work, hadn’t I, my lord?’ She stood, inviting him by word and gesture to leave her room.

But Euberacon was not quite done with her yet. ‘Go carefully. The girl is not without power, and Gawain is on the watch. It will not be so easy to take them from each other without rousing their suspicions.’

‘You may rest assured, my lord, that I will keep myself and my purpose well hidden.’ It is, after all, something at which I am quite practised.

That answer seemed to satisfy him and Euberacon left. When he shut the door, the raven perched on the couch let out a single derisive call and flew to her shoulder, running its beak familiarly through her hair until she reached up to stroke its feathers.

In response to its call, first one then another of the great black birds glided in through the window, settling themselves on chests and chairs, on the bedstead and the couch and any other surface where they might find room. Soon they were as thick as autumn leaves, filling the air with their raucous conversation, and filling her mind with their mischief and impressions.

‘Yes,’ she murmured to her friends, and to the man who had just departed. ‘I have had much practice at keeping myself concealed.’

Euberacon knew little of her past and cared less, or so he had said. She had told him her grandmother had been a slave in a sprawling villa when the Romans still ruled the island. For the great family, grandmother had been herbalist and bone-setter and had been well rewarded for her work. She had also been fair on the way to teaching her own daughter her arts.

When the last of the Romans fled back to their own hot land before the fast-approaching Saxons, grandmother had simply dressed herself and her daughter up in travelling clothes and set them on the road. They would walk until they found a village or other settlement. A healer’s talents were always welcome, she reasoned, and would be well rewarded – perhaps with a cottage and some goats or pigs.

What Kerra had not told Euberacon was how badly grandmother’s plan had failed. He believed Kerra had been raised in the bosom of a noble house and come honestly by her bearing and manners. But the truth was, the Saxons had raged across the country like a wildfire, taking what they wanted and burning the rest. It was only slowly that they began to think of staying in this rich new land. As grandmother walked on, she found great need for her skills, but none who could afford to keep her and her swiftly blossoming daughter, so they continued to walk.

In time, the daughter had a daughter of her own. By then, mother had grown to love the roving life, and gave no thought to settling down. She walked contentedly from place to place, plying her arts, taking whatever payment in coin or kind she was offered, and moving on again.

All might have gone well, but as Kerra grew, it soon became clear that all was not right with her. Voices no one else could hear whispered in her ears. She suffered violent headaches, and would sometimes fall to the ground, foaming at the mouth, her body writhing uncontrollably. At such times, she saw visions and uttered prophecy in strange tongues.

The attacks became more frequent and no amount of prayer or physic seemed to help them. Mother found herself less welcome in the villages. Here and there a voice muttered ‘witch’, and pointed at Kerra. Once, the people drove them out with stones and clubs, the priest leading the way, his cross held high.

After that, mother started telling Kerra to stay behind, to hide in the woods until she could determine if it was safe for Kerra to come inside the walls of the town or the limits of the croft. Sometimes, Kerra would be smuggled in after dark and hidden in a barn or pantry. Other times, she would be left in the woods, with mother venturing out to bring her food when she searched for the plants and herbs that were her cures. These times became more frequent and Kerra began to fear the day that mother would decide to walk on and leave her mad, bedevilled daughter to fend for herself.

The dreams only made it worse.

At night when she closed her eyes, Kerra began to see a black-haired woman. At least, sometimes she was a woman. Sometimes she was a flock of ravens, or a great, black mare. The woman promised Kerra she could take away the fits, and make it so the voices only came when Kerra wished for them. All Kerra had to do was help her.