Web of Deceit (57 page)

Ulfin pulled his horse to a stop outside a stone-walled building in the centre of the circular fort. Warriors entered and left the building in a constant stream, so Myrddion deduced that Uther had made his headquarters at the hub of this Celtic hive. Strong winds were blowing from the sea with a tang of salt and seaweed, and the healer recalled the dunes that rose above the straits separating Segontium from Mona island. He longed to see those cold, grey waters again and feel the ancient
peace of his home seep into his bones.

The healer dismounted and followed Ulfin into the building, past Botha and several guardsmen, into a windowless inner room where Uther paced with his customary impatience. ‘Well, Storm Crow? I’ve done what you wanted and we have driven the Saxons away from Anderida. Now, for matters of urgency.’

Myrddion drew in a shuddering breath. Here it comes, he thought fatalistically. Will I survive this trial of strength?

‘I have been told that Gorlois’s corpse rests in the tents of the healers. I trust that all due deference is being given to the mortal remains of the Boar of Cornwall? He died well, I hear.’

Now it comes. Uther has completed the first step towards achieving his ends.

‘No, my lord, Gorlois died from a cowardly knife thrust that pierced his heart from behind,’ Myrddion stated in a flat, unemotional voice. ‘Before his death, he had killed so many Saxons while securing the eastern gates of Anderida for you that he was slick with blood.’

‘His widow will mourn him, no doubt,’ Uther responded dismissively, although his eyes searched Myrddion’s face for some reaction. ‘But not for long, as I intend to take her to wife in honour of Gorlois’s great sacrifice for the west.’

‘May I speak freely, sire?’

‘You may, but remember whom you address, and the future of those little girls who wait in hope in Venta Belgarum.’ Uther’s cold voice was a threat to the bravest heart, but Myrddion felt oddly immune, as if he were following a predestined path.

‘She’ll not take you willingly, Uther. Despite their high birth and their arranged marriage, Gorlois and Ygerne loved each other to the exclusion of all others. She will die before she takes you into her bed.’

Uther’s handsome, impassive
face twisted with a powerful emotion that Myrddion didn’t recognise. ‘So you’d counsel me not to return Gorlois’s body to Tintagel in person?’

‘Frankly, my lord, she’d presume you were invading her husband’s fortress, lock the gates and let you cool your heels outside forever.’

‘Damn you, healer. You never seem to give me pleasant advice,’ Uther snapped, but without his usual repressed fury. ‘Just once I’d like one useful solution from you.’

‘Do you want the truth? Or a palatable lie?’ Myrddion retorted. He was tired of fencing with Uther and only the fate of Berwyn and Willa kept his voice neutral.

‘I’m afraid that you’re accurate on this occasion. Well, to Hades with convention or the opinions of the tribal kings. I want Ygerne and I’ll have her, so find a way to get me into Tintagel without having to lay siege to one of my allies. Do you understand me, Storm Crow?’

‘I understand you, but I won’t do it. I’ll not be a party to the rape of a newly widowed queen.’ Myrddion held his breath. He had never refused Uther outright before and his flesh crawled in expectation of a knife in the ribs or another blow to the head.

Uther snickered quietly and Myrddion’s blood chilled. ‘You’ll obey my orders, Storm Crow, or I’ll use little Willa in Ygerne’s stead until you do what I ask. After I’ve finished with her, I’ll give her to my guard. How long do you think she’ll last? She’s a pretty little thing – but not very strong.’

Although Myrddion had expected a similar threat, the actuality of pack rape, threatened by a High King, was so dishonourable that he took a backward step in spite of his best efforts to stand firm. Uther saw his involuntary action and grinned with triumph.

‘And when Willa is dead, I’ll start on the ugly little servant. I’ll warrant she’ll fight back, which I’ll enjoy. She’ll last longer too, because she’s a sturdy little beast, and that should please my men. Best of all, these women have
no standing with the tribal kings and no one will protest at what happens to either of them. You’re the only man who cares whether they live or die.’ Uther paused and swallowed his wine with one gulp. ‘Don’t doubt my intentions, Storm Crow. I never threaten without delivering.’ He turned to his servant. ‘More wine, Ulfin.’

As the king’s guardsman sprang to obey his master’s order, Myrddion tried to think.

‘There’s no way out for you, Myrddion Merlinus,’ Uther continued smoothly. ‘The girls, your healers and yourself will perish nastily unless you devise a way to smuggle me into Tintagel and learn to live with the consequences.’

‘Better men than you have tried to kill me since my infancy, but the goddess has decreed that I shall live until I am a very old man. Truly, you would earn my thanks if you decided to carry out your threat.’

Gods, Uther has thought this out. He knows I’ll be forced to obey because I can’t bear the thought of Willa and Berwyn being raped and tortured. But how can I live if I betray Ygerne and the dead Gorlois, for my honour will be trampled in the dust. If I’m honest, I don’t want to die before my time.

Myrddion’s thoughts were written on his agonised face and Uther fed on the healer’s indecision. The king gloated openly, and his blue eyes were almost colourless with enjoyment as he sensed the moment of victory over his adviser.

‘I don’t even know the geography of Tintagel,’ Myrddion protested and knew, as he spoke, that he was capitulating. The bitterness of failure rose in his gorge until he could taste the sour bile of vomit.

‘That’s easily remedied,’ Uther said with his chin raised in triumph. ‘Botha!’ he bellowed in the direction of the outer door.

‘Master?’ The captain of the guard entered the room hastily and read Myrddion’s shame at
a single glance. Dropping his eyes, he bowed to his master and awaited his instructions.

‘Show the healer our plans of Tintagel and explain its particular problems.’

Still impassive, Botha collected a scroll from Uther’s campaign table and rolled it out with a deft flick of his wrist. ‘As you can see, healer, Tintagel is a leaf-shaped peninsula surrounded by sheer cliffs that plunge down to the sea on all sides. A narrow neck of land links the castle with the mainland and a very narrow bridge of wood crosses this expanse of rocks and the wildness of the sea. The garrison has been constructed on the landward side to protect this entrance, so any attack becomes bogged down before the bridge is even reached.’

‘You’re suggesting that it would be impossible to take Tintagel by force,’ Myrddion said, interested in the puzzle despite his abhorrence of the task.

‘It’s an impossible siege in the short term,’ Botha agreed. ‘The defenders have their own wells and can fish the seas with impunity, so an attacking army might have to wait outside Tintagel for a year or more.’

‘So force of arms is pointless and that’s why you need me,’ Myrddion muttered bitterly, swivelling his eyes to stare at Uther with growing understanding. ‘I must discover a strategy to attack a fortress held by two defenceless women.’

‘Yes, that’s precisely what I require of you. You gave no less assistance to my brother – or to Vortigern before him.’ Uther’s voice was stony and inflexible, warning Myrddion that no pleas would be accepted. ‘You will obey me – with alacrity.’

‘Neither Vortigern nor Ambrosius required me to act like a barbarian who makes war on women. Even Vortigern’s idea of warfare was clean, by comparison.’

Myrddion’s words were unwise and he was speaking without reflection, but Uther wasn’t provoked. The
High King knew that his healer might protest all he chose, but he would ultimately be forced to comply with his master’s wishes.

‘I will need your map, and I will need time to think,’ Myrddion whispered, so that Uther had to strain to hear him. ‘I can’t pull Tintagel Castle onto the mainland by magic, because I don’t have any charms that I can use, even if such things existed. Only stealth will open the citadel to you and, as it has never fallen, I must have time to find its weaknesses.’

Myrddion knew that his voice lacked conviction and he accepted that he had surrendered to Uther’s threats. But he still intended to play for time.

‘You have the hours of darkness in which to complete your task, so pray that there’s no sun tomorrow, if you require more time. King Bors will be ordered to secure the fortress and bury the dead to keep him out of the way. Nor will any Dumnonii courier be permitted to reach Tintagel with the sad news of Gorlois’s death. You’ll think hard, Myrddion Merlinus, for many lives depend on your intelligence and your capacity for deceit.’

The healer staggered out of Uther’s rooms and ran into the open air. To the amusement of the guardsmen who lounged around Uther’s headquarters, he vomited violently into the pristine snow. Try as he might to quell his stomach, his body was racked by spasms until his throat was raw and his stomach was empty. He felt as if he had been poisoned.

‘Come, master healer, your time is short,’ Botha’s voice said softly from behind him. The captain laid a sympathetic hand on the younger man’s shoulder. ‘I’ll accompany you to your tent.’

Carefully, and almost tenderly, Botha assisted Myrddion to mount his horse and then led him back through the garrison. The moon broke out of the cloud cover and Myrddion realised that time was painfully short. What could he do? How could he hope to protect the queen, without
damning Willa and Berwyn to Uther’s retribution?

‘How can you serve this king, Botha? How can you listen to such monstrosities with a still and patient face?’

Botha turned in the saddle and halted his mount by pulling on the reins. ‘He is my master and I am oath-bound to him, right or wrong. Usually, my king is mindful of my honour and doesn’t ask anything that would compromise me, and so I’m able to serve, albeit with a heavy heart. My lord Uther is the High King. He will save our people from the Saxon menace, and while I shudder at the measures he uses to fight this war, I will die to preserve him. Please try to understand that while I try to retain my honour, my oath comes first.’

‘I don’t know how I can live with what Uther expects of me. We both know I’ll obey him. Because my mother was raped, I can attest that no good comes from such violence. But I’m trapped, so whom do I sacrifice? Those whom I know and love? Or those persons who deserve my respect? Whatever happens, I am damned if I do and damned if I don’t.’

Something in Myrddion’s voice caused Botha to pause, to think and then to respond with a fierce urgency. Perhaps the captain of the guard feared the healer would attempt to kill himself to escape the Gordian knot that Uther had bound around him.

‘But your birth was the result of a rape, Master Myrddion, so some good came out of an evil action, given all the lives you have saved as a healer. Our destinies are in the hands of the gods, if such things exist, but I believe there must be a balance in the vast distances of time and space, which demands that good must eventually prevail over wickedness and thwart the evil ones in the end. I am bound to believe this truth, or else my life would have no purpose. You must trust in your own goddess, and save as many innocents as you can.’

Myrddion hiccuped with
distress, and Botha couldn’t tell if the healer laughed or wept – or both. ‘So, also, said Bishop Lucius of Glastonbury when he advised me. A man of war and a man of God have both seen my conundrum far more clearly than I have. I’ve tried to choose reason over emotion my whole life, because I’ve always found that it’s dangerous to love or to trust too much.’

‘You touch upon the riddles of the gods, Myrddion. Ultimately, we survive on faith or we fall into the abyss. In my judgement, you’re a man who possesses strong feelings, but then I’m not the one who is required to stand in your shoes. Whatever choice is made, you must stand by it.’ Botha laughed deprecatingly. ‘We argue philosophy in the teeth of a tempest.’

Myrddion didn’t dare to close his eyes after Botha left him in the healers’ tents, despite having been awake for nearly two days. He feared that he lacked the strength to bear the assault of the night terrors that would come.

So, weary and bowed with care, he sat with the corpse of Gorlois and explained to the shade of the great warrior how he would betray a selfless love. Myrddion begged the dead king’s pardon, because he could see the answer to Uther Pendragon’s demands so clearly that he wondered that the High King had not found the solution for himself. Near dawn, as the eastern sky began to stain with the faintest touch of rose, a feeling of peace stole into his heart. Either the goddess, Gorlois or his own inner voice finally accepted what had to be done and lifted some of the weight of responsibility from his conscience.

‘You are not to blame,’ the voice whispered. ‘Ultimately, some good can come from Uther’s wickedness and you will be given a second chance to redeem yourself. Place no trust in kings and believe only in the human desire for truth and beauty that cannot be gainsaid, even by the masters of the earth. Be at peace.’

Myrddion suspected that his inner voice was only wishful thinking, but he still accepted
its comfort. Then, exhausted by worry and work, he closed his eyes and fell into a deep healing sleep, his tired head resting on Gorlois’s cold breast.

The snow clouds had thinned and weak sunshine broke through the cover to gild the shrouded land. Strangely, there were no birds calling and the winds had ceased to rattle the bare branches of the forest trees. Only a hunting vixen, over-late in her search for food, padded through the snow like a white ghost. She smelled the taint of death on the air, the scent that men brought with them to disturb the quiet of the forests, so she hastened to the den and her two cubs, which were almost old enough to fend for themselves. She carried a plump pheasant in her jaws to keep their hunger at bay and shivered at the delicious taste of blood in her mouth.

Behind her, the light brightened as another day dawned.

TINTAGEL CASTLE