Winter's Blossom: The Seasons of Arthur

Chapter 3

From that moment on we were inseparable. We were chalk and cheese together, for where I was impulsive and impetuous Owain was thoughtful and methodical. He too suffered the bullying of his elder brothers, and his father did nothing about it.

'My father hates me.' Owain explained in a matter of fact voice after we had been battered by his brothers, only to be punished by his father. I had asked him why his father never did anything to protect him at least. 'Merlin believes it's because I killed my mother.'

I spat the water I had been drinking out of my mouth in horror. 'You did what?' I spluttered.

Owain smiled sadly. 'Not like that.' He said. 'She died giving birth to me. Merlin says my father loved her very much, and a part of him died with her.'

Merlin said a lot it seemed, but stories were whispered all over the household about it's lord and his late wife that all declared of Enniaun's adoration for his wife. It was not always as complimentary about her though. 'Igraine was a poisonous bitch.' Ector had growled drunkenly one night when I had pressed him. 'She poisoned her first husband so she could marry Enniaun.' He suddenly realised what he had said, looked around and was confident that I had been the only person who had heard of him. He made me promise not to say anything and ushered me away to let him drink in peace.

Merlin had no such scruples. Indeed, Merlin was an inheritance from Igraine to her husband and perhaps the most important man in the household after my uncle and two elder nephews. We somehow seemed to not be included in the family group.

Merlin was perhaps the second best looking man I ever met. He was a small man, and very slight. His features were almost feminine in their delicateness and he took great care of them. He washed more than any other in the household, often twice a day, forcing the servants to carry the hot water to the tin bath in his chambers where he would have a host of girls scrub him down. His mop of curly hair was a jet black and oiled to shine.

'She wanted to be a queen.' Merlin told them, before correcting himself wolfishly. 'She wanted to be the queen, the High Queen.'

'There's no such thing.' I said. 'Ambrosius is the High King. But his wife was just the queen.'

'He was not married to Igraine though.' Merlin answered with his relish for gossip and scandal. 'Igraine ruled this house, not Uther Pendragon, the Mighty Head Dragon.' His use of my uncle's title was mocking. 'And she wanted Uther to be High King, so she could rule of the kingdoms of Britain through him.'

I was shocked. 'But my uncle isn't even a king here.' I said. 'He's just a steward.'

Merlin grinned at me. 'Be careful who you say that to.' He looked around and saw that it was safe for him to speak. Scruples or not this was dangerous territory. 'When your people came down to this country, many people thought it would only be a matter of time before they ruled all of Britain. They were unattached to the factions fighting each other, and they were a strong warlike people who had cast the Hibernian out and could have marched straight into Viroconium through the back door while Ambrosious was away in the east.'

I knew the history the story was set in at least. When Merlin had said "your people" he had meant my tribe, the Votadini. The Votadini hailed from Goddodin, north of the Roman's great wall. They were the most fearsome of all Britain's tribes, a hard and warlike people that Rome had decided to leave to their own fate and use as a buffer between them and their northern raiders. But with the departure of the Legions, Britain had found herself attacked from every direction. The British tribes fought each other as they tried to carve our kingdoms. The Angles and the Saxons sailed from the east, the Scotti and Hibernian from the west and from the northern mountains came Caledonian raiders.