Once Artor saw to the comfort of his guests, he asked Gareth why he had come to Cadbury Tor.
‘Master Ector has received a good offer for the hand of Licia in marriage, my lord. You know the boy, at least by note, for he is Comac ap Llanwith, of the Ordovice. He is the youngest son of King Llanwith.’
The High King started, and his eyes became hooded. Suspicion snaked in his mind like a subtle poison. Gareth was perturbed by what he read in the king’s face. Did Artor truly distrust King Llanwith, one of his oldest friends?
‘Does this Comac know who Licia is?’ Artor demanded flatly. His eyes were colourless and as empty as glass.
‘No, my lord. King Llanwith hasn’t told the boy, believing that his friendship with you would be compromised. Licia and Comac met when King Llanwith visited Ector as a family friend. Although Licia is young, she knows her own mind, and she has set her heart on Comac.’
‘She’s far too young!’ Artor protested like an old man.
In truth, Artor hadn’t even considered that Licia was now a woman and was of marriageable age. The passage of time had been stilled for Artor when he considered his daughter; and she was frozen in time as little more than a toddler. No man would be an appropriate lover for the daughter of Gallia. He had rarely held Licia in his arms, so thoughts of her loving another man filled him with horror. That she would risk the perils of childbirth caused hot blood to surge to his head.
‘She is fourteen, my lord, as you well know. Livinia is to be married in the spring, and she’s only a year older than Licia. I’m afraid that where one of those girls go, the other follows.’
‘Oh, is that so?’ Artor asked narrowly. ‘Caius hasn’t mentioned anything to me about the matter. Who is Livinia to marry?’
‘My lord, Caius is not yet the pater familias of the family, and Master Ector makes these decisions. He has arranged a match between Livinia and the grandson of Branicus, the Magistrate of Aquae Sulis. It is a very good match, but it’s not as favourable as Licia’s choice. Should Comac’s older brother perish, then Licia will become a queen.’
Artor flushed to his cheekbones. His jealousies and bad temper were an insult to his foster-father. Ector loved Licia as truly as Livinia Minor, his own granddaughter. Common sense began to reassert itself in Artor’s mind. Licia had to marry someone and, in Llanwith’s household, she would be safe.
‘If Ector approves of Licia’s marriage, I suppose I have no right to throw barriers in their path. I will send a bride gift that is more than fitting. Does that make you happy?’
Artor was very near to sulking, but Gareth refused to take offence.
‘There is one other matter, Lord Artor, although I don’t quite know how to broach it, for I suspect it will make you angry.’
‘Spit it out, Gareth. You may as well tell me now and get the matter over with.’
‘Comac has expressed a wish that Licia should be called Anna for all public ceremonies. His people would frown upon a Roman name for a member of their royal family, although Comac would continue to call her by her given name in private. I should also mention that Comac believes Licia to be your half-sister.’
‘What?’ Artor was stunned by this revelation. ‘Do other people gossip about such a connection with me?’
‘Yes, my lord, they do. And, for this reason, King Llanwith has agreed to the match for the sake of Licia’s continued welfare. He believes that if a connection with you becomes widely accepted, even if it’s wrong, it would place Licia in some danger. If she is in the bosom of King Llanwith’s court, she’ll be safe forever.’
‘But why do people in Aquae Sulis make the connection with me? I don’t understand.’
It was a matter about which Artor had given no thought. For once, his ability to predict a turn of events had failed him.
‘She is a perfect female image of you, my lord, except for her eyes. I’ve watched her as she has grown, and have always recognized the resemblances between you. Out of respect for you, no one has suggested that she might be your daughter, but all the citizens of Aquae Sulis are aware that Master Ector’s foster-daughter has high connections. This marriage seems to solve everything, my lord, and she will be happy whether she is called Anna or Licia or both.’
‘The marriage seems to be for the best, Artor,’ Myrddion broke in hastily, not only because he sought to nullify Artor’s disapproval, but because Llanwith had discussed the problem with him several weeks previously. Knowing Artor’s blind spot concerning Licia, Myrddion had been unsure of how to broach the topic with his master.
Targo was more practical. ‘You’d not have liked anyone to bed her, Artor, but Gallia would have been glad of such a match for her Licia, and you should be happy as well. Llanwith has been your friend for many years, and marriage between his son and your Licia is an honour for both of you.’
‘Very well.’ Artor was exasperated and out-of-sorts. ‘The match is sensible, even if I hate the thought that she is now a full-grown woman. Very well. Let us drink to Licia, or Anna, or whatever name is chosen for her. May she bear many strong sons.’
The men drank sweet wine and tried to ignore Artor’s mood, which was still morose.
‘Will you attend the wedding, my lord? Ector would welcome your presence, for a dream came to him that foretold his death, and he wishes to say his final farewells to you.’
Artor stared at Gareth, who forced himself to endure the king’s fearsome eyes without flinching. Gareth had known Artor since he was a boy, and he had always seen that piercing grey intensity for what it was. Artor was thinking and calculating.
‘No, I won’t attend the wedding. To do so would be to draw gossip straight to Licia’s person. We shall let the world believe her to be my half-sister if they so wish. It is conceivable, if I use my imagination, that Uther could have got a child on some maidservant before his death, and that Master Ector would foster the child. But, should I attend the wedding, I give legitimacy to Licia and that would make her, and any son she bears, targets for unscrupulous villains. I’ll trust to Llanwith and his heirs to do their duty.’
Gareth nodded his understanding of Artor’s instructions, although his face reflected his dissatisfaction.
‘You think me uncaring, Gareth? I’m not, I promise you. I will leave Cadbury for the Villa Poppinidii in five days’ time, and will offer my felicitations to the family before Licia weds. As for Master Ector, I am disturbed that he should believe himself to be near death. He is my father in all but name, and now I understand why he has exercised his responsibility to select husbands for Livinia and Licia before his eyes close for the last time. I owe everything I hold dear to him, so of course I will come. Myrddion will let it be known that Master Ector is failing.’
‘Of course, Artor,’ Myrddion murmured.
‘My lord,’ Gareth broke in, his heart in his mouth. ‘I request that you allow me to hold you to your promise.’
Gareth saw Artor’s eyes shift sideways momentarily, as the king tried to remember what he desired of him. Then Artor’s brain thrust up the memory of their conversation which had taken place in Gallia’s garden over six months earlier.
‘Aye. Once Licia is wed, you may come to Cadbury Tor and join the guard. Odin will instruct you in battle craft until you have mastered the skills of a warrior. Mind you, Odin is not up to Targo’s standard, but the old man cannot bend and stretch the way he once could. No doubt he will help Odin from time to time - in his own inimitable fashion.’ Artor grinned like a young boy again. ‘He’ll have you leaping fences in no time at all. And he will also be making numerous, dire prophecies about your mortality.’
Targo laughed, exposing what few teeth he still possessed.
Myrddion glanced surreptitiously at Targo. In the deepest, most honest part of his heart, Myrddion fretted that Artor would eventually be cast adrift as those few persons he loved were lost, inevitably, to death. The old warrior was failing; Mori Saxonicus had been the last time he would exercise his battle craft. Soon, Targo would pass into the shades, and Artor would know another irreparable loss in the fabric of his life.
Gareth rose to his feet and bowed in homage to his lord. ‘I ask that you allow me to retire, King Artor, so I can contemplate the achievement of a dream. There are no words that can sufficiently express my thankfulness.’
Once Gareth had left Artor’s inner sanctum, the mood in the room became more relaxed and natural. Although Gareth was an old acquaintance, Artor was reserved with persons whom he didn’t wholly trust, especially in those matters that had been troubling him since the Battle of Mori Saxonicus.
‘Now that my last duties to Ector and Gallia are almost complete, the time is approaching when I must consider a suitable marriage for myself. ’ He turned his gaze to Myrddion. Artor’s expression was fey and reckless, causing Myrddion to undergo a brief moment of panic. ‘What say you, my friend? Which woman of your acquaintance would bring the strongest alliance for the crown of the Britons? Personally, I don’t care who shares my bed as long as they are fertile and compliant. You shall have to choose for me.’
Myrddion blanched, and the other men looked horrified. Only Targo chose to speak, having the licence of great age as protection.
‘Have you gone soft in the head, Artor? You may marry if you wish, of course. In fact, it’s your duty to beget an heir to follow in your footsteps. But Myrddion shouldn’t be forced to choose your wife. What if the match goes horribly wrong? Oh, I know you won’t care, but he will. He’ll blame himself if he brings trouble and pain to you.’
It was now Artor’s turn to colour. ‘Forgive me, Myrddion. It was wrong of me to make such a foolish suggestion, and I’m sorry for any insult I gave you. My only excuse is that the world is topsy-turvy today, and I’m feeling a little lost.’
He paused.
‘I agree. I should choose for myself, but I don’t believe that I can find love again, and never in the political hurly-burly where the position of queen would elevate one of the tribes to eminence. I am a commodity, to be fought over and flattered. I doubt the suitable women in the realm care a jot for me.’
Artor rarely admitted to human weakness or fears, so Myrddion readily accepted his apology. The few visible flaws in Artor’s character were why Myrddion loved his king so well.
‘I can only advise you, my lord. In fact, Leodegran’s daughter seems eligible enough, but I’ve never seen her, or had the opportunity to gauge her suitability. Unfortunately, it’s likely that even you will be denied that privilege until your wedding day for, as you are well aware, the nuptials of kings are matters of alliance, rather than love.’
Artor grinned his wry approval of Myrddion’s summation of the situation.
‘Then this Wenhaver could become my new bride. After all, how bad can the girl be? Organize it for me, will you, Myrddion? Check the girl personally and gauge her suitability. And then force Leodegran into offering a significant bride price if you’re satisfied with her. That bastard has always been tardy in provisioning my warriors and paying my taxes, when the whole world knows that his lands are rich in copper, tin, grain and even gold. If he wants Artor for a son-in-law, then he can pay through the nose for the privilege.
‘Oblige me by travelling to Corinium and looking the girl over before I’m saddled with a visit from that pair. If this Wenhaver is suitable, we can agree on a bride price and sign suitable treaties when Leodegran visits us in state. If not, perhaps they’ll stay away. Dancing attendance on a girl barely full grown is very tiring.’
Myrddion bowed his head in acquiescence and examined his master from under his lowered brows. Artor’s face reflected nothing but boredom. Myrddion sighed.
Despite himself, Myrddion grinned. Leodegran was a pompous ass, and Myrddion would enjoy the haggling, especially as he held all the strategic power in the palms of his narrow hands.
‘And Gruffydd is off to Venonae to see his brat, the babe Nimue. Cadbury Tor will be quite bare of company, unless you plan to go wandering off somewhere, Targo.’
‘I will go with you, Artor. I have a desire to see Ector and Licia before the Villa Poppinidii changes forever. Even though Caius may be steward to the High King, he’ll make changes at Aquae Sulis when Ector has gone that these old eyes won’t care to see.’
‘What’s your opinion of Gareth, Targo?’ Artor asked casually as the meeting of friends stirred to depart and leave their king to his rest.
‘Gareth does have the look, doesn’t he, Odin? Perhaps he’ll make a worthy warrior, even if he’s coming to the craft a bit late. At least he can ride a horse, which makes him more competent than our last pupil.’
‘Will you never forget, old man?’ Artor laughed, and the room was suddenly warm in the balm of the High King’s pleasure.
With smug, uncritical approval, Wenhaver stared at her reflection in a silver mirror. The new veil was exactly the right shade of blue to suit her eyes. The Romans certainly knew the tricks of dying fabric, and her father had paid dearly for this piece of azure gossamer, especially purchased for her visit to Cadbury Tor. She sang as she pirouetted around her untidy room, clutching the length of delicate cloth to her breasts.
‘He will want me! He will fall in love with my beauty on sight, even if he is very old. And then I will be Queen of all the Britons.’
Leodegran had taken his daughter in hand one month previously after learning from a Cadbury courtier that the High King planned to marry. Leodegran had rubbed his hands together in pleasurable anticipation, and blessed the day that he had invested in several well-placed spies within Artor’s court. As he was a born horse-trader, Leodegran knew how foolish it would be to presume that Wenhaver would capture the High King’s heart. However, his greedy spirit also knew his value to the throne of the West. Even if his daughter had been plain, she had an excellent chance of succeeding in this particular political manouvre.