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‘
You were
told to keep him back,’ Arthur chided, realising it
was time he
interrupted this exchange. ‘See to it you keep my orders in future.’
Head slightly bowed, Ider mumbled an
apology.

‘
Take the dog to the
kitchens,’ Arthur added, dismissing the lad. ‘A bone or something will set his
mind occupied on his belly.’
Ider threaded
his fingers through the dog’s collar, had gone a
few paces when Arthur
caught up with him, took hold of his shoulder. ‘And I advise you, lad, if you
want to stay in my
service, to curb your inclination for
over-friendly conversation with my wife.’

‘
der saluted smartly. ‘Aye,
Sir.’ Walked away with a jaunty
stride, but
not before tossing a last, broad smile at Gwenhwyfar.

‘
He
seems a good lad,’ she observed, watching him persuade
Cabal to leave with him. Had Arthur seen that look of new
born devotion
in his eyes? Raw and green,’ Arthur remarked, ‘but he will improve. He has guts
and determination, qualities I need in my men.’ He had not seen. She relaxed,
forgot Ider when Arthur said, ‘Gwenhwyfar ...’ He made to touch her, but she
turned quickly away, bending to gather her gardening tools. Arthur took them
from her and when she objected, asked, ‘Where do they go?’
She pointed along the path to a lean-to shed
built against the
rear of one of the granaries. He followed her into it,
placed the stuff onto a shelf.

‘Have you greeted Enniaun?’ she asked,
ducking away from
his hand when he reached
towards her. ‘Of course you have,
you would not enter a Caer without
first seeking its Lord.’ She
retreated into
the sunlight, began walking in the direction of
her brother’s Hall,
taking long strides and talking all the while, her hands holding the cloak
folded around herself, defensive and protective. ‘My brother was pleased to see
you, I would
wager. He has two sons now,
did you know? My other brothers
have their own established territories,
they ride here often
enough, when the
hunting brings them this way— which is why
Dogmail is here. It will be
good to have the Hall filled this evening with men of your Artoriani. Where are
you intending
to make camp? There is still
the remains of the Roman fortress
of
course, but there is also a good meadow by the river, ideal for
men and
horses. You are welcome to that.’ Arthur, following in her wake, lengthened his
stride and
caught hold of her arm, swinging
her pace and speech to a halt. ‘Whoa! What is this? Idle conversation to keep
me at bay? Hie,
it is me, Arthur.’ He
flapped his hand, pointing at himself.
‘Tck,’
he twitched the corner of his mouth, searching for words.

He had hold of both her shoulders. ‘I did not
ride all this way just to catch up on family news.’
Gwenhwyfar studied his left hand, focusing on a battered
gold band with the image of a dragon imprinted on
it. Uthr had
given him that ring when he had been a boy. There were so
many things she ought to say; good, bad, angry.
Loving things. Where to begin? But she shrugged him off, walked on. ‘Family
news
is important to the family.’

‘
Aye. If
you are lucky enough to have a family that is worth its
importance.’ A
spark of tawny-gold defiance flashed in her eye, her head lifting. ‘Is yours
not important then?’
Arthur backed off a
pace, his hands spread, held submissive.
‘Not the family on my side of
the shield, na. Ambrosius, my mother, neither have much love for me, nor I for
them.’ His hands dropped, though not his eyes. ‘There are only three who mean
more to me than sun, moon, sea and sky.’
Fighting
pricking tears, Gwenhwyfar was relieved when they rounded the corner of the
granary and the Hall came into sight.
She pointed, eager. ‘Look! Enniaun
is ready to give formal greeting!’ She walked on, faster, Arthur a pace behind,
his fingers thrusting deep though the leather strap of his baldric, slung
aslant across his chest.

‘Is that Geraint?’ she asked, seeking those
she knew among the men of Arthur’s escort. ‘He has lost weight; have you not
been feeding him? I do not see Cei. Is he not with you?’ Terse. ‘Na, he is not
with me.’ Glancing towards the abrupt answer, Gwenhwyfar said no more.

People of the Caer and settlement were
crowding to gather
outside the Hall, eager
to share in the welcome of visitors, their
excited voices a rising
burble as the King and Gwenhwyfar approached.

Enniaun’s personal guard were drawn up in two
columns either side of the Hall doors, their iron-shod spears held tip
downmost in the formal greeting of friendship. At
the apex
stood Enniaun and his royal
family of Gwynedd, Teleri his wife,
herself a princess from the
north-west, and their two young sons, Catwalaun and Owain. Their daughter,
almost the same age as Llacheu, was with Gwydre, holding his hand, ordering him
to stand straight and not fidget.

Before the Hall, spears also tip down, the
Artoriani wearing parade armour and standing ranked with shoulders squared
behind the two standard bearers who held the fluttering Red Dragon and Blue
Turma’s own banner. An impression of undefeatable strength and fierce pride.
Gwenhwyfar smiled at
Arthur. ‘How far beyond
the Caer did you make halt to clean up
and change?’ Arthur grinned back
at her. ‘A few miles. You should have seen us before, the grime was hand-span
thick!’ The waiting Artoriani rustled, a hint of movement, aware of
the nearing presence of their King and his Queen.
Geraint
barked an order; as one, they raised their spears, bringing the
wooden shafts clashing once across their shields in salute.

‘Gwenhwyfar. There are things we must
discuss.’

‘What? Now?’ They were approaching Enniaun.
Not here!
Must she face him and the memory
of these past months before
all these watching eyes? They were walking
close but not touching. She quickened her stride.

‘
Soon.
When I have finished talking with your brother.’
They mounted the three
wooden steps.

Enniaun came forward, unaware of his sister’s
panic, or the vast emptiness welling inside Arthur at the line of rebuffs that
he seemed to be receiving from her. The Lord of Gwynedd acknowledged his
Supreme King with bended head and knee, then sprang to embrace him in
friendship. ‘I greet you Arthur, King, kindred and friend. Welcome to my Hall,
welcome to Gwynedd.’

‘Croeso! Welcome!’ The shout, in a mixture of
the British and Latin tongues was taken up with enthusiasm by the still
increasing number of gathered onlookers. A cheering and shouting that was
surely heard as far as the distant mountains and the snow-tipped Yr Wyddfa. The
Artoriani answered with
a wordless shout, ‘Aye-eeeee’,
that rang throughout the Caer
and was caught by the sea wind, tossed
high to the clouds and the circling, shrilling gulls.

Teleri was offering the
gold chalice of welcome. Arthur took it and drank deep, passed it first to Enniaun
then back to Teleri
and last to
Gwenhwyfar. To each he spoke different words.

To Enniaun; ‘May
our hunting follow the same path, and be good.’ To Teleri; ‘May your house
prosper, and your sons and
daughters bring
you pride and sons and daughters of their own.’
To Gwenhwyfar; ‘May the ceasing of the storm return the sun
to
your heart.’
Gwenhwyfar took the chalice between both hands and
sipped. She was about to
pass it back to her husband with a
similar
traditional reply, as her brother and Teleri had done,
but on impulse, changed her mind. Tipping the
thing, she spilt
a little onto the
wooden step as an offering for the old gods, and
said, ‘The night has been long and it will come again, but
between each blackness will always come the light
of day.’ She
smiled, a little shy, at Arthur, the greeting spreading
suddenly
in genuine welcome from her lips
to her eyes, coming truly from
her heart, as she realised how much she
had missed him.

Arthur took the chalice
from her, his fingers briefly brushing
hers,
their eyes meeting and at last holding. She did not look
away, did not remove her hands from his touch. Were
it not
that he would grossly offend
the Caer and its Lord, Arthur
would
have swept her to the privacy of her chamber and
claimed her there and
then. But he could not. Instead, he spoke for her ears alone to hear, ‘Mithras,
Cymraes, you are more beautiful than a summer’s dawn the day after battle.’ He
swung away from her then, sending the chalice down to Geraint and
the men, the vessel passing along the line,
pausing to be refilled
and drunk, a
multitude of greetings and thanks flowing with
that welcoming wine.

§ XXVIII

‘
I hear you stay only the one night. You come a
long distance for
such a brief visit.’ Gwenhwyfar sat on the river bank,
arms
hugging drawn-up knees. It was a place she often came to of an
evening,
a quiet sanctuary away from the day-long bustle of the
Caer. A peaceful place,
where she could think.

Arthur stood a few yards away, tossing
pebbles, skimming them over the surface of the calm river. The tide was in, the
water rode high. ‘I am needed in the North, Cei is already marching with the
Artoriani. I wish to join them as soon as
possible,
if I delay, Lot’s rabble may disperse homeward. Once
they are scattered among those lonely hills ...’
He skimmed
two stones together, stooped to pick up another handful. He
need not add any more; Gwenhwyfar knew well enough the tactics of campaign. ‘Lot is sure to know we are coming, I am
wagering that
while his men are drunk on success, they will lust
after a confrontation with me.’ He lobbed the last
pebble,
watched it sink, and seated himself on the bank, leaning back on
his hands, legs stretched before him.

A three-quarter moon was
rising against the blue-black
evening sky, giving
strength to the fading light. A flighty wind was whispering through the trees
on the opposite bank and
behind, the camp
fires of the Artoriani winked like stars against
the darkening rise of the hill. Men’s voices were a distant
murmur of talk and laughter. The soft settling of
a spring night,
with its heady scent of day-warmed new grass, damp earth
and awakening blossom.

Gwenhwyfar asked, ‘Has he come south to
entice you into a fight?’

‘Lot? I should think so. The synod was
meeting there, but
why else bother with
Eboracum? Since the river burst its banks yet again with that high tide last
year, the place has been all but
dead. Too many lost their trade and
business to the mud, it is a
skeleton of a
town, a few diehards like Ider’s father stay on; for
the rest, the place
will soon be left to the Saex settlers. The English seem indifferent to the
temperament of water levels.’ He snorted a chuckle of amusement. ‘The men of
the Church close their eyes to the decline of the towns, but it seems their God
has other plans.’

‘You accept Lot’s challenge then?’
Lot
?
Arthur
thought.
Not Lot, Morgause.
He rolled onto hisstomach. Plucking a stalk
of grass, began chewing it, sucking
the
sweet spring taste from its stem. ‘When have I turned down
a challenge?’ He cast the flattened stalk aside,
rolled again to lie
on his back,
lacing his fingers behind his head to gaze up at the
first stars. ‘It would be unwise to ignore this. A
few of
Vortigern’s Saex who stayed in the north after attacking your
da’s old stronghold may have joined with Lot. Kindred of
Hengest.’ And Winifred, who wished the Pendragon dead, was Hengest’s
granddaughter. Coincidental of course.

As if reading his
thoughts, Gwenhwyfar asked, ‘Has
Winifred a hand in
that?’ Arthur was counting the stars. Six. Seven. ‘I thought she might, but na,
I think not. Were the Church to discover it, she would lose all the ground she
has so far made.’

‘
She
intends for her son to be the next Pendragon.’ How
could she say that so
calmly, Gwenhwyfar wondered.

Arthur sat up, sat as his wife, with arms
around his knees.
‘Not while Llacheu lives.’
He spoke firmly, committed.
‘Llacheu will be King after I am gone.’
Somewhere along the
opposite bank a creature
dived into the water, the splash
followed by the alarm of disturbed
ducks. More stars. The sky was quite dark now, the river too. The last time
they had been together, they had been beside a river.