The Hallowed Isle Book Three: The Book of the Cauldron by Diana L. Paxson

Author:Diana L. Paxson [Paxson, Diana L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Retail, TPL
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

VI

THE SACRED ROUND

A.D. 497

CAMALOT SMELLED OF RAW WOOD AND RANG WITH THE sound of hammers. It seemed to have grown every time the king’s household returned to it, the timber and stone ramparts raised higher, the framing of the great henge hall and the other buildings more solid against the spring sky. The hill had been part of Guendivar’s dowry, and if the past year had seen little progress in the intimate side of their marriage, externally, Artor had accomplished a great deal.

From the timber guard tower above the southwest gate the queen saw small figures of men and horses climbing the road. That would be Matauc of Durnovaria—she recognized the standard. He was an old man now, and Artor had not been sure he would come. No doubt curiosity had brought him, as it had so many others—Britannia was full of tales about the new stronghold Artor was building in Leodagranus’ land.

Most of the other princes were here already—the place was full of men and horses, and the clusters of hide tents and brushwood bothies that sheltered their escorts nestled close to the wall. According to Leodagranus, it had been a Durotrige fortress when the Romans came, destroyed in the years after Boudicca’s war, and then it had been the site of a pagan shrine. But Merlin said the Durotriges were only the latest of the peoples who had sheltered on the hill, tribes now so long gone that no one even remembered their names.

Cai had laughed at him, for on first sight its tree-choked slopes seemed no different from any of the surrounding hills. But when they reached the summit, they found a roughly flattened oblong with a swell of earth around it, and three additional ramparts carved into the side of the hill. The trees they cut to clear the site had provided timber to brace the rubble wall and planks for the breastwork that topped it.

Guendivar climbed the ladder from the sentry walk to the gatehouse often. Here, she could lean on the wickerwork railing and watch the bustle without being overwhelmed by it, and there was usually a breeze. Gazing out across the tree-clad hills she could almost imagine herself free.

Below her, men were setting more stones into the rough facing of the rampart. Just because Artor had called a consilium did not mean work could cease. From here Camalot was a place of circles within circles: the ramparts that ringed the hill, and the huts within the wall, and in the space to the east of the more conventional rectangular building where Artor had his quarters, the great henge hall.

In truth, it was not so much a hall as a shelter, for sections of its wickerwork walling could be removed to let in light and air. Its design had also been one of Merlin’s suggestion, neither a Roman basilica nor even a Celtic roundhouse, although it most resembled the latter. Merlin said it was another inspiration from ancient days. The thatched roof was supported

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