As the last of the ladies swept out of the garden in an indignant swirl of brilliant skirts, Caius uncrossed his legs with studied unconcern and leaned back against the sun-warmed wall.
‘I don’t think your dear wife likes you overmuch, brother,’ Caius offered, his tone flat.
‘Strip off your tunic, Caius, and then we’ll discuss my wife,’ Artor replied in an inflexible voice. In his assumed air of superiority, Caius was visibly reverting to the bully whom Artorex had both feared and hated during their youth.
‘Why should I, Artor? What am I suspected of that warrants a person of my lineage having to bare his arse in public?’
‘We’re not here to dance around the truth, Caius,’ Myrddion said, his face showing his distaste for the situation. ‘Your future hangs on your response.’
Caius’s smile was predatory. ‘You really want to see my body, dear brother? You really desire the truth? Very well, I’ll give you what you want. What are a few commoners more or less? The lovely Nimue was a commoner the last time I checked, but she certainly has an air about her, doesn’t she? How could I overlook her when I imagine she’s such a good fuck.’
Artor was sickened. His foster-brother was showing the true man behind the affable façade he had built, out of fear and self-interest, since the killing of his mother. Truly, Artor thought, men never change, they simply learn to hide their flaws effectively. He wondered how long Caius had been a sadistic murderer.
God help me, Artor thought. Now I must wound my oldest friend.
‘You are impertinent and insulting, Caius,’ Myrddion snapped. ‘And you still haven’t removed your tunic. Perhaps you’re hoping to avoid retribution because you’re kin to the High King. You won’t escape this time.’
‘Send Odin away, Myrddion,’ Artor ordered abruptly. ‘The game has changed.’
‘What?’
‘You heard me, Myrddion. I am about to change the game.’
‘No, my lord! I’m sorry, but I won’t allow my suspicions of this man to stand untested.’
‘Then I will do it myself. ’ He ordered Odin to move out of earshot of the travesty that was about to take place. ‘Now, Caius, show me your wounds. No one, other than Myrddion and myself, will see them.’
Caius smirked, and pulled off his beautifully tailored tunic.
A narrow slash wound, well bandaged, cut across the right side of his belly. It was low and close to a deep fold in his soft flesh immediately above his pubic bone.
‘It’s a shame she didn’t castrate you,’ Myrddion snarled with obvious satisfaction.
Caius continued to smile.
‘What of the other wound?’ Artor asked.
Caius lowered his loincloth. An inexpertly stitched wound, also covered, had narrowly missed the tendons in his thigh. He was grinning, as if these wounds were badges of honour, although they must have caused him considerable pain. He seemed to relish discovery.
The cruelty in Caius’s nature must have longed to assert itself once its outlet in battle ended, Myrddion thought with disgust. The soldier that slaked his demons in battle was safe during troubled times. But, in peace, he became a monster. Targo had recognized the brutality within Caius. He had never been fooled, as his constant warnings down the years testified. Myrddion wondered whether the killings provided Caius with the opportunity to somehow act out the murder of his hated foster-brother, for his victims had all been fair like Artor. Perhaps when he exulted in killing, he once again slew the well-born mother who had loved him so well but had ruled him all his life.
Myrddion felt ill with a natural man’s loathing for madness, and knew that Caius’s motives would always be unknown. He was certain that Caius had stepped over a line in his mind, and now there was no going back. To keep his oath to Livinia, Artor might try to find a soft solution, yet still punish his brother as he had sworn to do on a bloodsoaked night when they had all been young. But Caius would never stop killing, not as long as there was flesh to desecrate. A worm lay in his soul that could never be killed.
‘Arrest him, Artor. I hunger to hear this man scream when he confesses his crimes.’ Myrddion turned to Caius and almost spat out his accusations. ‘You lied all those years ago, didn’t you, Caius? You assisted the Severinii to kill those poor boys. Is that when you learned to enjoy watching life drain away? Or did Severinus let you kill them once he had tired of using their bodies? What really lives behind that false face of yours?’
Caius laughed at Myrddion without a hint of regret. ‘You still don’t understand, Myrddion. Artorex will never expose me, because he can’t tear apart the kingdom by murdering his brother. That was Uther’s way, and Artor will do anything to avoid comparison with his father. We all have our ruling passions, but mine are more honest. Besides, he promised Mother he would protect me from harm.’
Caius’s expression was almost demonic, causing Myrddion, the reputed son of a demon himself, to step backward.
‘And he needs me,’ Caius added with a sneer. ‘As his steward, I keep his campaigns against the Saxons successful. Artor is a realist. Regardless of your wishes, old man, Artor will neither expose me nor execute me. Not this time. Not ever, if Artorex holds to his vow to my mother. And the noble Artor always keeps his boyhood vows. Nimue will just have to wait until I decide to visit her again. What fun! Anticipation is half the pleasure!’
Artor drew in a deep, shaky breath with an audible hiss of air. ‘There are many good men who will line up to be my steward. No, being steward won’t save you, or the oath I swore so many years ago. Nor any threat to persons I cherish.’
Caius snickered, but his eyes were less confident.
‘You neither know nor understand me, brother,’ Artor continued. ‘I don’t think you ever have, if you trot out such tired reasons why I should allow you to live. You butchered my dog and left the poor animal to suffer. And you killed the Selgovae princeling, that lovely boy from beyond the wall. You’ve struck out at me personally, brother . . . and you know how I respond to personal attacks.’
For a moment, Caius looked unsure of himself. Myrddion could see his confidence wavering as he stared into Artor’s eyes. But he had lived his whole life on the edge, and his arrogance quickly returned to him.
‘You’ve had opportunity after opportunity in the past, and I’m still here to haunt you. Is it sentiment, Artor? Was it because you loved my parents? Or is it because you don’t want my wife and daughters to suffer? As if I cared about daughters. I only ever wanted sons. No, it’s not sentiment, Artor, is it? It’s personal. You don’t want me blabbing about Licia, do you? I wonder how Wenhaver would use that bit of information. It would be like giving her a knife to stick through your ribs.’
Artor said nothing, but motioned Odin to approach.
‘You can’t kill me out of hand,’ the loathsome, honeyed voice continued, ‘because I’m your brother and a lord of the realm. You would have to put me on trial just to retain the façade of the noble Artor. How could you explain the lies that were told at Aquae Sulis and at the Villa Poppinidii? And the lies told to the realm concerning me? In the first place, you didn’t want to hurt my father, but when did you realize that exposing me would damage your own reputation? When did you decide that you couldn’t afford one more monster in the family when you already had so many?’
Myrddion couldn’t help himself. He took three quick steps and struck Caius across the face with all the force of his repressed anger and dread behind the blow. His ring caught on Caius’s cheekbone and ripped the tender skin under his eye.
This small violence finally wiped the sneer from Caius’s jowly face.
‘I hope that makes you feel better, my lord Myrddion. Brutality is tasty, isn’t it? And nothing eases the heart like running blood.’ Caius smacked his lips, and his pink tongue caught the rivulet that trickled down his face. ‘Very tasty.’
Myrddion had no words to refute Caius’s sneering remarks. How could any man respond to such unrepentant perversion? Nimue would never be safe while this monster lived, for Caius had proved that he had the patience of a spider.
Artor was silent, his brows drawn together.
‘I’ll dress now, if you don’t mind, as I see no point in advertising my pleasures.’
Myrddion turned his tortured face towards his king and protégé.
‘You cannot turn a blind eye to what Caius has done, my lord. Steward or not, Licia or not, he must be stopped from his murderous desires. He feeds on blood and pain. He inhales the screams of his victims, yet he only preys on those poor souls who are weak and helpless. Only you can stop this monster, for he will go on and on with his atrocities until he is exterminated.’ So profound was his disgust that Myrddion spat on the tiled floor. In truth, he would have preferred to vomit, for Artor had become a stranger by his lack of action, and Myrddion’s whole life and every sacrifice now seemed to have been given for nothing. Artor’s brow was furrowed, and Myrddion knew there would be no trial, no public execution and no dangerous gossip. Behind his bitter disappointment, something broke in him as he saw what he had made.
Caius sat at his ease, poured a cup of wine, and began to clean his nails with a small fruit knife.
Artor recognized the wound he had inflicted on Myrddion, and his heart ached at the hurt he saw in his eyes. He drew his old counsellor down the corridor while Odin kept guard over Caius, who was peeling an apple. Caius’s lack of concern made both men feel ill.
‘I must consider my options, Myrddion,’ Artor struggled to explain. ‘You understand my dilemma. Were it any person other than my foster-brother, I could act as I choose, but he knows too much. He protects the secret of my daughter, and he can leave evidence of her existence where I will never find it.’
Artor held up one hand to stop the hasty words that came boiling up to Myrddion’s lips.
‘I know, I know. You believe that my brother’s threats are nothing but words, and a creature like this worthless worm will say anything to protect his neck. But even the possibility of his revenge forces me to stay my hand - for the moment. But Caius really doesn’t know me at all if he believes that politics will keep him breathing. Trust me.’
Artor stared back at Caius’s sandalled feet where they rested on his table. Odin’s eyes followed his master’s gaze, and one booted heel struck hard at Caius’s ankle so that he dropped his apple in surprise.
‘I’m still considering his fate, Myrddion. I would kill every man in Cadbury to keep my daughter safe.’
‘Even me.’ Myrddion sighed bitterly.
The old man’s head dropped wearily, and Artor couldn’t help himself. He stepped forward and embraced his old friend. One sword-calloused hand rested lightly for a moment on Myrddion’s hair, as light as the kiss of a lover, and for a moment the old scholar’s hopes were restored.
‘I will punish Caius, but I will do it in my own way,’ Artor said. ‘You must believe in my justice. I am a king, and you made me such. You, of all people, should understand.’
‘I will never understand this madness, my lord.’ Myrddion stared at his sandalled feet as if he could find some comfort in familiar things. ‘I look at Nimue and her wounds, I remember her courage in fighting this . . . thing, and I feel revolted that Caius breathes the same air that we do. I imagine the slow death of the widow while he watched over her body, and I could kill your brother myself. How can you let him live, Artor? How?’
Myrddion’s whole body pleaded with the High King, but Artor was like stone. Sadly, Myrddion remembered the many lessons that Targo had taught the young Artor about expediency and how the goal justified the means to attain it. Self-knowledge and blame curdled in Myrddion’s stomach.
‘We were at fault, Artor. Luka, Llanwith and I were at fault, but I will always believe that we had no choice. My heart bleeds that Caius causes us both such pain because he has been permitted to live past his time. I wonder if Lady Livinia would have still asked you to swear your oath if she had known what the future would bring.’
‘You must leave me some illusions, old man,’ Artor growled. ‘But now for Caius. I have pondered for long enough on this matter. I am a king but, like Targo, I am also a soldier.’
Artor’s booted heels warned Caius that his foster-brother was approaching. Against his will, his shoulders stiffened and his fists clenched, although his face remained bland.
‘The widow was very satisfying,’ Caius drawled. ‘I have often wondered why she clung so tenaciously to life . . . perhaps her babe was the motivation. Ah, Myrddion, if you felt the rush as she begged for her life, then you might understand me better. Why should I care what happened to either of them after I had finished with her? She was an itch I needed to scratch.’
Artor struck his brother across the jaw, and Caius’s head hit the rock wall with a sickening thud. His stool shot out from under him and he landed on his plump buttocks in an untidy sprawl.
At Artor’s casual violence, Myrddion knew a shiver of pleasure that made him feel even more distressed.
‘Have there been others?’ Artor demanded.
‘Oh, yes, from time to time. I’ve always enjoyed my pleasures away from Cadbury until recent times. But lately there seemed to be fewer reasons to deny myself, and less need to hide. After all, your father tortured and killed quite openly and no one tried to stop him. I can exercise self-control, but the urge to taste little Nimue was too strong to ignore on this occasion.’
He smiled at the repulsed expression on Artor’s face.
‘It’s odd how my inhibitions have faded as I age. I don’t suppose I’ll ever cease to kill, if I’m truly honest. And why should I, for I’m a connoisseur of pain. You should try it, Artor. You’ve always been so workmanlike in your killing.’
Artor’s face flushed with anger. ‘Caius, you are banished to Tintagel fortress in Cornwall, where my kin continue to reign. It consists of cliffs, predatory birds and the wild ocean and, if you try your tricks there, you’ll be drowned in an unfortunate accident. The nephew of Gorlois is still the master of Tintagel and, while he has little love for me, he has even less for you. Should you speak openly of the reasons for your banishment, I may change my mind. In which case, you would not live to see the dawn of another day. Five of my trusted warriors will make sure that my conditions are met, and that no children, women or livestock go
missing
around you.’