The Heirs of Fate

By Susan Wilson Younkins

The Legends of King Arthur--what if Mallory got it wrong? What if the ancient script used by Troyes contained translation errors? What if the monks in the middle ages forgot to transpose the nouns and adjectives in the ancient Latin texts and what should have read 'rotunda on the plateau' instead came out as the nonsensical 'round table.' The Heirs of Fate unscrambles the puzzle and turns the Arthurian legends into a logical and more credible novel. With unforgettable characters and action-packed drama, Ms. Younkins has woven a novel that will be hard to put down. Set in the 5th and 6th Centuries C.E., the novel starts with Merlin's rise to fame, travels through Arthur's stellar achievements, and ends with the collapse of the Romano-Briton Empire.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Jun 1, 2006
• ISBN: 9781412232036

Susan Wilson Younkins

Susan Wilson Younkins, a native of Louisville, Kentucky, resides in western Maryland with her husband and three children. She has been writing stories for family and friends for over forty years and her previous novel, The Needlepoint Clock Mystery, was published in 1993. In The Heirs of Fate, she blends her love of writing with her life long research into the true history behind the legends of King Arthur.

Book preview

HEIRS OF FATE

BY

Susan Wilson Younkins

An historical novel, an epic adventure

pivoting around the heroes of

the Arthurian legends

and ending with the collapse

of the Romano-Briton society

in the 5th and 6th centuries.

Books by Susan Wilson Younkins

The Needlepoint Clock Mystery

Heirs of Fate

© Copyright 2004, Susan Wilson Younkins.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

Note for Librarians: a cataloguing record for this book that includes Dewey Decimal Classification and US Library of Congress numbers is available from the Library and Archives of Canada. The complete cataloguing record can be obtained from their online database at:

www.collectionscanada.ca/amicus/index-e.html

ISBN 1-4120-4883-4

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Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

"WHAT HAS BECOME OF THE STEED?

WHAT HAS BECOME OF THE WARRIOR?

WHAT HAS BECOME OF THE SEATS OF BANQUET?

WHERE ARE THE JOYS OF THE HALL?

O for the bright cup!

O for the mailclad warrior!

O for the glory of the prince!

HOW that time has passed away

And grown dark under the cover of night,

As if it had never been."

-from The Wanderer

Anonymous Anglo-Saxon

Image297.JPG

Britannia & Hibernia

450 C.E.

Image304.JPG

The Eastern E mpire

450 C.E.

Prologue

Morgause sat at the small tower window. The rain was falling again and the rosy clouds were fading into the heavy mists as they did every afternoon. A movement outside caught her eye. As her embroidery work dropped into her lap she felt the anxiety rising. Was he coming at last? She stood and peered out the window. No sound reached her ear except the rain on the stone tower. No, it had only been the mist rolling in and surrounding the trees, fighting its daily battle with the sun and shadows. Wouldn’t anyone come? How long would they wait? Everything had been prepared and was kept in readiness. All of Arthur’s wishes had been honored since he had been brought here to Avalon. Where were the others? And yet she never doubted that someone would come. Someone would survive. Someone would pass the test and fulfill the quest. But not today. Today would be like yesterday, and the day before…

Chapter One

This is all Constantine’s fault, thought Vortigern, as the screams of his soldiers met his ears. The acrid smoke stung his nostrils as he groped and felt his way along the hallway, searching for a way of escape.

Vortigern was right. This was because of Constantine, at least it had begun with the death of Constantine. Co-emperor of the Roman Empire, elected emperor by the army of Britannia, Constantine met his fate on a battlefield in Gaul. While trying to win an alliance with the fledgling society of the Franks, he was attacked by his co-regent, Honorius. Constantine surrendered but was executed.

His sons and heirs to the throne of Britannia, Ambrosius and Uther, were minors when Constantine died. The boys were growing up under the protection of the remnants of Constantine’s army in a section of Gaul that was becoming known as Brittany. The Britons in Gaul were led by Duke Hoel, while Vortigern was acting as regent in Britannia. Vortigern, a minor king, had been selected to rule during what Constantine thought would be a temporary absence.

Vortigern tried to maintain armed forces as the Romans withdrew from Britannia, recalled to Rome by Honorius. He knew it was important to patrol the borders to keep out invaders, such as the Saxons in the east and the Picts in the north, but there were not enough willing young Britons to serve as soldiers. There was another problem, Vortigern was an evil king. Constantine had a bad habit of promoting people into positions of power they were not well-suited for in exchange for favors and other riches. Murder and incest, treachery, tyranny and treason were common during Vortigern’s reign. Lacking the manpower he needed, he had decided to use the riches stored in Constantine’s treasure house to hire mercenaries to serve in his army.

Fleeing from the slaughter taking place in the great hall, Vortigern found the escape he had been searching for, the door at the rear of the building. His hand slipped on the door frame. He looked at his hand and gasped when he saw the blood, the blood of his beautiful wife, the Saxon princess he had married to form an alliance with the Saxon King Hengist. Hengist’s own daughter had been slaughtered along with the rest.

Vortigern swore that this, too, was because of Constantine. With so many soldiers in Gaul, and with soldiers surrounding the sons of Constantine, and the rest of the Romans returning to Rome, what other choice had Vortigern had? Rather than try to fight both the Saxons and the Picts, he allowed the Saxons in to help him fight back the Picts on the northern border. Almost five hundred Briton chieftains assembled at Duneideann to discuss using the Saxons as mercenaries. Vortigern invited the Saxons to come unarmed to the assembly to cement the alliance.

Vortigern had been proud. He felt so powerful, in command of all those who gathered. The hall had been swept clean, fresh straw was in the corners. Behind each table were the standard bearers for each tribe and clan. The colorful standards waved above their heads gaily staking out each clan’s place at the feast. Sheep were roasting in the fireplaces. Servants were filling and refilling tankards and mugs with mead and ale. The chieftains, wearing tunics of mail or leather over leggings of wool, had been nervous at first at being unarmed so close to Saxons but the flow of the spirited beverages was warming their mood and calming their apprehensiveness.

The Saxon guests were all military men, but among the crowd of Britons were their wives and women attendants, their simple woolen gowns adorned with colorful silk scarves and wraps. Vortigern eyed his own beautiful Saxon wife in her sage green gown and long waves of auburn hair. What happened next would haunt him for the remainder of his life.

At a signal from Hengist, the Saxon guests drew knives from their boots and began the massacre. The Britons had been unarmed. These had been the terms agreed upon by both parties before the meeting. Every Briton, whether chieftain, guard or servant, along with their wives, everyone in the great hall was murdered before the eyes of a horrified Vortigern.

Vortigern had been hidden, protected by the shield of his unarmed guard and by the body of his own wife, but Vortigern alone escaped from the bloodbath in the great hall.

Shocked and scared, he fled to the mountains. Hiding in a small village, he gathered around him faithful guards and a collection of misfits who had not been welcome at the court in Constantine’s time. Sensing a void left by the death of the chieftains, Vortigern found himself surrounded by opportunists and advisers of doubtful conscience. They were known as magi, pagan holy men, whose rituals were frowned upon by the newly Christian religion that had been sweeping through Constantine’s court.

Since Vortigern was defensively naked against his enemies, he attempted to build himself a sanctuary, a tower at Y Wyddfa. But his luck was still bad. No matter how much construction was completed each day, the tower collapsed each night, and the construction had to begin anew each morning. Vortigern camped in military tents at the base of the rock upon which his citadel would be built and met with his advisers to seek an answer to this latest setback.

What is your excuse this time, Vortigern shouted at the construction chief, slamming his tankard of ale down upon the table.

The nervous builder stood before Vortigern, twisting his pointed cap in his hands. His woolen tunic was covered with dust from the rocks that had fallen again the night before. I am willing to follow the instructions of the magi, he muttered, referring to the counselors who had advised Vortigern to make a human sacrifice for the cornerstone of the foundation.

What is this? Vortigern scorned. Last week you were against the sacrifice. You said the loss of a young life was nothing more than a pagan stunt by those seeking to win my favor. Vortigern stood and walked toward the builder. Hands behind his back, he glared into the man’s face. What has changed your mind? Or are you just a squeamish coward?

I don’t…I don’t know, the man stammered, not willing to be the unwitting cause of someone’s death but unable to offer any solutions for the failure of the building. Vortigern continued to glare at him during the uncomfortable silence that followed. Finally, one of the magi stepped forward from the shadows of the tent and said, He scoffs at powers he does not understand.

The magi wore the fine, flowing robes of his profession, new robes woven with silver thread, paid for by his new boss, Vortigern. His hair was worn long and was slicked back with a fragrant oil. He hoped Vortigern was impressed with his appearance for he had taken great care to prepare for this morning’s audience. He pressed close to Vortigern’s side, close enough to speak in a low, melodic tone. The message from the gods is being spoken here. The fortress will never be completed until the ground is sprinkled with the blood of a fatherless child.

Vortigern’s eyes broke away from the builder and he turned instead to glare at the magi. The smell of the worker’s sweat was unpleasant but the sweet perfume of the magi sickened him. Well, Vortigern growled, you heard the builder. He is ready to follow your instructions. What have you to say?

I have found a fatherless child. The son of a nun, and the magi summoned the boy to be brought before the king.

To the surprise of Vortigern and the magi, the small black-haired boy did not cower before them but stood defiantly. Why have I been brought here? demanded the child.

What is your name? asked the magi.

Merlin.

Who is your father?

The boy looked from the king to the magi and back. It is true what the workmen said, he said incredulously. You are looking for a sacrifice for your tower. Well, I may be fatherless, but my death will not end the collapse of the wall. I know the secret you seek.

A secret that the magi do not know? Vortigern wondered about the mysterious child. And how do you come to possess such a secret?

Being a fatherless child must have given me special powers, he said with a smile that curled on his lips but did not reach his dark eyes. The tower collapses because there is an underground pool which must be drained. Then your wall will stand. Then, choosing to play upon the superstitious mind of Vortigern, Merlin added, It came to me in a vision. Merlin neglected to tell them that since being brought here by the magi, he had observed the workmen and had crawled around in the caves of this rock. It would serve no good purpose to try and explain the engineering processes at work. Instead, he let Vortigern believe what he wanted to believe. As the king commanded, and against the advice of the magi, the relieved construction chief drained the pool and the tower at last stood as strong as the mount from which it sprang.

Vortigern decided that Merlin must be under the protection of God and be a possessor of forbidden knowledge. He kept Merlin at his side and began to rely upon the young man for advice. This would be the first king Merlin would serve in his long life. He had no love for Vortigern but being the power behind the throne was useful. He was allowed certain favors, like observing Christian rituals, and establishing monasteries and churches. Even the magi took him under their wings and taught him the tricks of their trade. Although he was able to be a stabilizing influence on Vortigern, still it pained Merlin to watch the treasure house dwindle while the mercenary soldiers Vortigern hired played at border patrol trying to defend against both the Saxons and the Picts. Meanwhile, the beautiful Roman villas were lying in ruins, the Roman roads were in disrepair and being overrun by the forests. The stones in the Hadrianic Wall were being stripped by the Saxon settlers to build their shelters. It saddened Merlin to watch the decay of Britannia because of the ineptitude of the usurper Vortigern. A plan was formulating in Merlin’s mind while he waited and watched in the court of Vortigern. Finally, word came to Merlin that the princes Ambrosius and Uther had reached manhood while in the protective custody of Duke Hoel in Brittany. Merlin was confident that the time to launch his plan had arrived.

Merlin chose a feast celebrating the completion of the citadel at Y Wyddfa as the stage for his spectacle. He entered the feast hall wearing a flowing blue robe belted at the waist by a rope woven from silk threads. His black hair was long and fell in waves over his shoulders. The face was not quite clean shaven and the beginnings of a black beard were evident. Black eyebrows rose like accent marks over two very dark piercing eyes. They were the type of eyes that penetrated past your skin and bones and into your soul. Merlin could glare in such a way that could not be avoided and made even the magi turn aside. No one took notice of him as he walked silently toward the fireplace where an oxen was roasting. One hand flicked out from a fold in his robe and tossed a handful of powder into the flames, causing a bright flash and a loud bang. This was a cheap special effect he had learned from the magi, but it served its purpose. He soon had everyone’s attention. As the foul-smelling smoke cleared, he raised his arms, threw back his head and laughed out loud. It is one thing when people laugh together at something funny, but when one person laughs alone it creates an uncomfortable silence. This was the atmosphere Merlin wanted to evoke. He now had everyone’s attention.

I see two dragons. Two sleeping dragons. Merlin lowered his arms and placed his fingertips on his temples, his eyes closed tight under furrowed brows. The sleeping dragons are stirring and will soon awaken. There will be death and revenge against the Saxons and he who invited the Saxons. All will die. Merlin dramatically dropped to his knees, his head bowed. Silence then filled the room.

Vortigern was too stunned for speech. His general, on the other hand, was full of questions. He must mean the Pendragon brothers, Ambrosius and Uther. When will they come? Should we join with the Saxons to fight them?

No, Vortigern said sharply. Their path to the throne of Britannia lies through me and they will have to fight the Saxons to get to me. We have paid the Saxons a small fortune to protect our borders against invaders.

But these are not invaders, pointed out the general. These are the rightful heirs to the throne.

I am the regent, shouted Vortigern. They will have to come to me. If they choose to fight against the Saxons, then that is their fight. Not mine. I will not fight Constantine’s sons but neither will I fight with the Saxons. I will wait here for them to come to me.

And come here they will, for the Saxons are camped below us in the valley, the general pointed out. We will not have to seek out a battle, the battle is coming to us.

Then we will wait out the battle here in the safety of this tower. Whatever the outcome, the victor will find me here.

Not with his wizard at his side, however. Merlin had disappeared during the discussion between Vortigern and his general. He fled the tower and made his way to the path along the shore. He knew that the brothers had already landed on Briton shores and Merlin was going to meet them where they were camped. The Pendragons had not come to Britannia alone, along with them was the Briton army under the command of Duke Hoel. It had been many years since the soldiers had seen their homeland. The destruction of the villas and the roads and the presence of Saxon settlements angered them beyond words. As Merlin walked through the encampment, the talk he heard among the soldiers was of the righteousness of their fight, restoring Constantine’s elder son Ambrosius to the throne so that he could right the wrongs committed by Vortigern.

They were eager to engage King Hengist and the Saxons camped at Y Wyddfa.

The next day, Vortigern sat in his tower by a window, watching the conflict being played out on the field before him. How they looked like toy soldiers from here. Vortigern almost felt that he could reached out a hand and pluck riders from their horses or crush an ax-wielding Saxon with his thumb. He grinned to himself. He was invincible in his tower. He had been so clever. If the Saxons prevailed and the brothers were destroyed, Vortigern would be the king, no longer a regent. If the brothers won, he would welcome them back and serve as their adviser, for they had been out of touch