War Duke of Britain

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  There were echoing calls, within the clearing and beyond it. People shifted and stepped aside, making room for the dozens of warriors making their way toward Arthur.

  Ector and Pellinore and the lords around the big chair moved to align themselves with Emrys.

  “Lucan, Cador, Druston, Bevan, Lowri, Bricius, Alun, Ilsa, Bors, Hoel, Elen, Tor, Dornar, Percival, Lynette, Cai, Aglovale, Leodegrance, Eogan…” Anwen murmured to Steffan, as the men and women gathering at the top of the fire grew larger.

  Rhiannon’s eyes prickled hard. She blinked, trying to clear them.

  Her father prodded her shoulder. “Go,” he breathed.

  Rhiannon stumbled forward, eager to be included in the ever-growing group surrounding Emrys. No room was left at the head of the fire. She joined the edge of the group, which had spread more than halfway around the fire and was at least five people deep.

  Through the people standing around Emrys, Rhiannon saw Igraine bent over Uther’s chair, still and forgotten.

  Lot’s scowl deepened. His beak nose lifted. “You might be a good fighter, enough to make men want to fight beside you, Emrys of Galleva, but it does not make you a king. There is no sword to declare you and no king to make the declaration. You are a pretender.”

  Emrys stepped forward, so that only the fire separated him and Lot. “You are right. Men will follow me into battle, while your own son and heir refuses to fight by your side.”

  Lot glanced around him wildly, as if he had just remembered Gaheris was with him.

  Gaheris stepped up to the fire and glanced back at Lot. “Sorry, father.” He moved around the fire to stand with the others.

  Lot’s face grew thunderous.

  “I can lead men into battle and I can win battles and for now, that is all Britain needs,” Emrys said. “Let me fight the Saxons first. Uther declared me War Duke. You, all of you, can do the same. Let me lead you in battle, until Britain is cleared of Saxons and there is time to worry about kings.”

  The shout which rose through the trees in support of his proposal sent owls flapping into the night. Rhiannon added her own voice to the acclaim, which would have been unanimous but for two.

  Lot and Urien turned away.

  “You do not have my permission to leave, Lot!” Emrys shouted.

  His voice carried, as shocked silence fell once more.

  Lot turned back to face Emrys. His face worked.

  Emrys pushed around the fire, as people stepped back, making way. Idris walked behind him, his sword out.

  Lot and Urien stepped together, so they were shoulder to shoulder, their expressions wary as Emrys approached them, their hands on their sword hilts.

  Emrys stopped a clear pace away from them. He pointed at Lot. “You must answer the charge of murder, Lot.”

  “Me?” Lot tried to smile. “I am to carry the blame for a handful of resentful men who take it upon themselves to express their unhappiness about a deserter?”

  Emrys smiled. “They are your men. You must answer for them.”

  Lot’s gaze shifted around the clearing, measuring, no doubt, how little support he had. He scowled. “Then let me return to Lothian and remove myself from your presence, War Duke.”

  Emrys shook his head. “Not without reparations, Lot.”

  “Reparations?” Lot’s attention was caught. The mention of settlement gave him a glimmer of hope.

  “Give me the slave, Idris, and every wrong you have done will be forgotten. The slate will be wiped smooth,” Emrys said.

  Rhiannon sucked in a shaky breath, hope and joy flaring in her middle and fizzing in her blood.

  Idris, too, looked stunned. He glanced from Emrys to Lot. “You can’t,” he whispered to Emrys. As the clearing was still and silent, everyone heard him. “He should account for the ill he has wrought. It cannot be swept away—not for me.”

  “If not for you, then who?” Emrys said, his tone gentle. “All men should be free. You will be just the first, Idris, and you can help me find and free others, in turn. You will be driven to it.”

  He turned his attention back to Lot. “Well?” he demanded.

  Lot’s jaw worked. Anger built. “You have planned this from the beginning,” he growled.

  “Agree, Lot,” Emrys shot back. “Or you will answer for what you have done, and I would rather have you fighting for me than against me. I need every lord and every tribe Britain can muster to fight the Saxons. They will return in the next years, more eager than ever to grind us into dust. This battle will rouse them to a last-ditch effort.”

  “An alliance?” Lot said thoughtfully.

  “No,” Emrys said flatly. “You serve the War Duke of Britain, as does every man here. If you do not stand with me, then you stand alone against the Saxon hoards who will sweep over your lands. Fighting together is our single hope.”

  Lot scowled. “Take the damned man, then. He is of no further use.”

  “Thank you,” Emrys said gravely. “And now you are dismissed. Returned to the north, both of you, and prepare for a war to end all wars. Go.”

  Neither man had any choice but to turn and leave as ordered. The anger built in their eyes as they wheeled away and shouldered through the people standing on the edges of the clearing.

  Emrys turned to face Idris. “Idris of Britain…as a free man, take what you want as the spoils of battle.”

  Idris spun to look at Rhiannon, as soft sighs of recognition and pleasure sounded.

  Rhiannon’s breath stuttered and failed. Her heart froze, yet she could hear its frantic beat thudding in her temples and her ears. She trembled, as her hope built into a bright, white hot yearning.

  Idris circled the fire, moving toward her, as everyone moved out of his way. He stopped in front of her. He trembled, too. His black eyes shone with more than hope. “I choose you,” he breathed, his voice shaking. “Be mine. Forever.”

  Rhiannon threw her arms around him and kissed him, as he held her against him and bent over her, while everyone clapped and sang out their approval for his choice.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Emrys, walk with me,” Merlin said, taking his arm. The enchanter lowered his voice. “Let us pretend to be speaking of grave matters, so you can draw a free breath of air in silence and peace.”

  “How did you know?” Emrys asked, as Merlin led him out of the tent and into the night. To the east, the sky grew pale as dawn approached. The lords and kings had not let him be for the entire night.

  “I remember that drawn expression on Uther’s face, when he reached the end of his patience for the day,” Merlin said. They moved out among the trees. The pre-dawn breeze ruffled Emrys’ hair.

  The camp was still a busy place, only now the fuss and business had an industrious air about it. It was a good feeling, Emrys decided. “I should go back,” he told Merlin.

  “There’s time yet. Soon, your days will be so full, you will yearn to be back in the forest.”

  “Oh, I already wish for that,” Emrys breathed.

  “Good,” Merlin said. “Never let go of that wish. It will keep you humble, a quality too few kings possess.”

  The rattle of wagons and thud of many horses made them turn to check behind them. The path they walked had been flattened by many previous wheels and hooves. It led out of the forest to the old Roman street they had been using in pursuit of the Saxons.

  The northern kings were departing as ordered.

  “We should get out of their way,” Merlin murmured, “lest Lot run us down and claim there was no room to go around us.”

  “Which there is not,” Emrys said, stepping over to the verge. “Let’s watch them go by. I confess I feel some satisfaction at seeing them leave.”

  “As you should.” Merlin’s tone was mild. He rested the end of the staff in the grass and leaned against it.

  Emrys watched the banner bearer pass, then Lot and Urien together as usual. Just behind them came the women of the two houses. Emrys recognized one with a jolt. He gripped Me
rlin’s arm. “The woman on the white palfrey,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Alice…”

  “No,” Merlin replied. “That is Morguase, Lot’s Queen.”

  “Morguase?” Emrys breathed, his throat tightening. “But…” His words faded, as the woman Merlin called Morguase turned to look at him. She had recognized him, too. She smiled, her smile touched with secret knowledge.

  Emrys gasped, gripping the trees with white fingers. “She…she…”

  The other woman, just as beautiful as Morguase, also watched him with a small smile, as if she recognized Emrys’ horror.

  Then a closed wagon passed them and the women were lost from sight. Emrys closed his eyes. He held on to the tree, letting the truth settle. “She told me her name was Alice,” he told Merlin. “We…” He couldn’t finish it.

  Merlin’s face held no expression. His black eyes were steady.

  “You knew?” Emrys breathed.

  “I sensed the shadow. It was not until this moment I saw the shape of it.”

  Emrys pointed his finger at the wagon which hid them from his sight. “She knew who I am. Everyone did. And we are…she is my—gods above—my sister!”

  “Half-sister, although the result is the same,” Merlin said, his tone one of agreement.

  Emrys pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. “Have they no limits?” he breathed.

  “Only the ones they make by their actions,” Merlin said.

  Emrys gave a choked groan. “The consequences of choice. That is to be her punishment? A fate somewhere in the future?”

  “Oh, you have no need to worry about a far-off future for that one. She already lives a life of misery, which she believes is the fault of everyone but herself. With every step she takes to right a perceived wrong, she only mires herself more deeply in the life she hates. Morguase is already being punished. You should pity her.”

  “The thought of her makes my skin crawl,” Emrys said. “What am I to do with them?”

  “You spoke truly and from the center of your heart when you said you needed Lot,” Merlin pointed out.

  “That was before—”

  “They were true words and they were heartfelt and wise. Lot and Urien can still be of help. Their sons even more so. The north will be a bulwark against the Saxons. Let this play out as it will, Emrys.”

  Emrys sighed. “You had better call me Arthur.” They walked behind the last of the northern riders. “I must get used to it, I suppose.”

  “You responded to the name well enough when Uther used it,” Merlin pointed out. “Those of us who know you, you must give time to adapt.”

  “Even you?” Emrys asked. “You knew who I was all along.”

  “A fact I often conveniently forgot,” Merlin replied.

  Emrys halted in the middle of the road. “Will you be going away again, Merlin? I mean…you didn’t always serve Uther directly. I remember stories about you and Ambrosius, how you would hide in a cave for years, until Ambrosius had need of you. Will I…will you do that with me?”

  Merlin’s gaze was steady. “Every time I left the side of the King—either King—was to put in place the events which led to me standing here before you. Everything I have done, all I have done, was for you, Arthur. I will be right where you need me. I always have been.”

  Emrys swallowed. “For the longest time I thought…I hoped…you were my father.”

  Merlin smiled. “I saw my father in every man I ever admired. Then I met my father and every man I’d ever looked up to paled in comparison. Uther was a great man, Emrys. He held Britain together through some of the darkest years we have known, despite feuding kings and tribes and petty squabbles which could have split the land asunder and let the Saxons march through unchallenged. To the end, he fought to unite us. You will hear many stories about Uther which paint him as a flawed man—and he was. His weaknesses were Uther’s greatest gift. He rose above his short-comings. When men compare Uther to you and call him the lesser king, you must remember the challenges he faced and be proud of him.”

  Merlin’s ringing tones sent a ripple along Emrys’ spine.

  Merlin must have sensed his unease, for his expression grew warmer. “Your father and I between us, made you. As did Ambrosius before Uther and all the way back to Macsen Wledig. You and I are part of that heritage.”

  “Then…I will be King? The lords will accept me?”

  Merlin turned and walked again. “One day, maybe, if you behave yourself and do what I tell you.”

  Emrys fell in beside him. “Yes, Merlin,” he said, keeping his tone meek.

  Merlin laughed.

  ANWEN LED STEFFAN INSIDE THE command tent and looked about doubtfully. In the early morning sunlight blazing through the opening, she could see the carpets and furs were dirty and in need of a good shaking out.

  It was not like Igraine to allow dust to settle around her in this way.

  Merlin wove his way through the men milling around the big chair at the back of the tent. The chair was empty and Anwen’s heart pattered. She was glad Steffan could not see it. It was a harsh reminder of the loss Britain had taken, last night.

  “Prince Merlin,” Anwen murmured. “I received word Igraine wished to speak to me.”

  Merlin’s face was grave. “I sent word in her name.”

  “Why would you do that?” Anwen asked, startled.

  “Because Igraine would have wished it that way,” Merlin said.

  Anwen’s eyes widened.

  Merlin took her hand. “Both of you. Come with me.” He took Anwen over to the private compartment. As she still had her hand on Steffan’s elbow, he came along with her.

  Merlin pulled the dividing cloth aside and ducked under, then held it for them.

  “Lower your head,” she warned Steffan, then moved through. Steffan hunched down and came through, too.

  Merlin lowered the flap. Anwen barely noticed.

  The big bed which traveled everywhere with the King had one occupant. Igraine laid in the middle, her eyes closed, her hands resting on her chest. She looked peaceful.

  Two of her women companions rested on their knees beside the bed, praying. One of them looked up at Anwen. Her eyes were red and damp. She turned back to the bed.

  Anwen’s heart squeezed. “It is Igraine,” she whispered to Steffan. “She is…”

  “Dead?” he guessed. He sighed. “I feared this might happen.”

  Merlin said, “When her ladies tried to wake her this morning, they discovered she had passed during the night.” He shook his head. “She had no ailments, nothing which would have let me predict this.”

  Anwen sighed. “She is with Uther now,” she said softly. “She was Christian, Merlin. They believe—”

  “Yes, I am familiar with the litany,” Merlin said. “I have heard of couples dying within days of each other. This is the first time I have seen it for myself.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I thought you might appreciate hearing of this directly, Anwen, as you served her for so long. Better the simple truth than the stories which will spread once the news is given out.”

  “Thank you.” Sadness touched Anwen. “After her daughters were taken from her, Uther was all she had to live for.”

  Steffan kissed her temple. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said softly.

  Anwen turned her face into his shoulder. “Thank the gods,” she whispered.

  ARTHUR ORDERED THE BREAKING OF the camp. He dismissed all but a handful of the most experienced officers and their men, who would scour the borders of the Saxon Shore of any lingering Saxons, to encourage them to return to their own territories.

  Cai and Bedivere were among those officers.

  “I suppose it means I must return to an empty house,” Ector grumbled, as they dismantled the Galleva camp. The supplies were divided between those of the Galleva contingent who remained with Arthur and those who would return with Ector.

  Among the company which would return with Ector was Rhiannon’s mother and father. Rhiannon
helped them pack, her own heart heavy, for she was still uncertain about her own future. There was no longer a Queen and Ilsa spoke of returning to Brittany, which meant there would be no Queen’s commander, either.

  She was startled when Emrys walk into the Galleva clearing. He looked as he always had, yet in the space of a day everything had changed. Cai walked with him. It was no longer Emrys who accompanied Cai, the heir of Galleva, but Cai who accompanied Arthur, the heir of Britain.

  Emrys came right up to where Rhiannon stood by the cart her mother and father used, helping tighten the ropes which held the bench in place.

  “It is time we spoke, us three,” Emrys said quietly. “Can you walk with us?”

  Steffan hauled on the ropes on the other side. “I need a man with strength on that side, anyway.”

  Rhiannon ran her tongue out at him.

  “Careful,” Steffan said. “If the wind changes, you’ll be caught with that face forever.”

  “How did you know I made a face at you?” she demanded.

  He shrugged. “You are my daughter.” He smiled, as he groped for his end of the rope.

  Cai tugged her arm. “Come along,” he said softly.

  Rhiannon picked up her cloak and wound it around her shoulders. “Coming,” she replied.

  She hurried after the two men. Cai and Emrys headed directly west into the trees where no other camps remained, although the ashes from their fires and the flattened earth where they had been would linger for weeks yet.

  Emrys halted just as Rhiannon reached them. He looked to the left, toward the command tent. “Just a moment,” he murmured and headed in that direction.

  “What is he doing?” Rhiannon asked Cai.

  “I honestly don’t know,” Cai murmured back. “I’ve been following him around most of the night and I am still baffled. It’s as if I don’t know him anymore. He’s thinking ten moves ahead of everyone.”

  “Emrys has always thought ten moves ahead of everyone,” Rhiannon pointed out.

  “In games and on the practice field, yes,” Cai said, as they followed Emrys, who moved fast. “Now, he’s doing it all the time.”