Trevane and Nativa by James Dennis

Author:James Dennis [Dennis, James]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Midland Imperial Books
Published: 2023-05-09T00:00:00+00:00

9 – Exile

Trevane awoke, feeling the boat sway beneath him as it rocked under the waves. At first, he couldn't remember where he was, and instinctively reached out, feeling for his wife, Nativa, lying beside him. Then the memories of the last few days came flooding back to him, and he bit back tears. Dumnonia has fallen. Constantine is dead. Uther and I are exiled. Nativa is… gone.

His ignorance of Nativa's fate was the worst of it. Hope and fear tormented him – is she still alive? Did she escape? Did she die fighting the Feragoths as they swarmed the walls? Or is she now a prisoner of the Emperor? Trevane rubbed angrily at tears which pricked the corners of his eyes. He would likely never know. His life had been filled with joy and possibility for one year… a glorious year which he would treasure forever. But now it was gone, swept into the shadow of Feragoth. The only thing that remained was his hate.

He dressed quickly, and walked out onto the deck, his black cloak flapping in the sea breeze. The air was bitterly cold, and the wind stung his cheeks, the scent of salt all around him. The crew of the small craft avoided his gaze, knowing him by reputation, and by his company. Twenty men had crammed onto the fishing boat – armed for war, but with grey expressions of defeat on their faces. Together with its crew, they now journeyed across the sea to what remained of Logres.

Trevane gazed out to the horizon, obscured by sea mist. His vision disappeared into the fog about fifty feet in front of him. Either side, the boat was flanked by others, some smaller, some larger, each sitting low in the water with its cargo of soldiers. They had managed to get a few hundred men away at the first village, and then moved onto the next to secure further passage. Five villages had been emptied of their craft before they had enough boats to carry them all.

From the Dumnonian coast, they had made their way to Ynys Lundi, an island some thirty miles from Tintagel. Whilst it was not controlled by Feragoth, it was only twelve miles from their coastline, and so a few hours to rest the crews had been enough. They had sailed north through the night, hoping to land in Gŵyr, an outlying principality of the Kingdom of Gwent. From there, they could re-supply and head east to Gwent itself.

Trevane made his way towards the prow of the vessel, pulling his cloak about him. His breath came out in plumes of steam as he stood next to Uther, who stood gazing out at the sea, hoping to catch some glimpse of shoreline.

'We lost ten boats in the night,' said Uther flatly. Trevane was silent. Ten boats meant nearly two hundred men, who they had trained with through the last year. Faces that would be familiar to them, names that stayed in the mind. Two hundred men, who had simply disappeared.

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