It seemed impossible. But my presence there was impossible, too.
He returned to his desk and plucked up my passport. “Let us begin with this. Do you know what these markings are?”
“It’s writing—words.”
“Can you read these words?”
“Yes.”
“What do they say?”
“‘Passport, United States of America.’ That’s where I come from.”
“I’ve never heard of it.”
“It’s a new country.”
“A new country. Oh!” He closed his eyes and allowed a thrill to shudder through his body. Recovering, he waved the piece of leather he’d been writing on. “And this? Can you read the words on the vellum?”
Lines and scratches. “Is it Latin?”
His eyes widened in surprise. “Yes, it is.”
“I can’t read it.”
“But you recognize it.”
“Where I come from, lots of people would recognize it. But you’re not speaking Latin.”
“Our language isn’t written. To create a dispatch or a record, I must use Latin. But few people know it—the educated few. And none of them are women.” He tossed the vellum to the desk, still watching me. In a single, swift movement he was sitting across from me. “Your society—mostly educated, eh?”
“A lot, yeah.”
“Hmm.” He flipped through the passport and opened it to my picture, which showed me grimacing as if I’d just eaten a dissected squirrel. “This likeness—it’s uncanny. Tell me how it was made.”
I’d be lost if I had to explain photography or any other modern innovations, from computers to can openers. “I’m not good with technical stuff like photography, or cars, or air travel—”
“Air travel! Oh yes yes yes!” He clapped his hands like a six-year-old at Christmas. “Tell me all about flying. I must know how you did it! If you are from the future, I’m thrilled to learn what I can from you. If not, your lies are grand.” He then quickly composed himself. “In either case, your presence is perhaps not best for our cause, despite Arthur’s delight in you.”
“I’m glad he’s delighted.”
“Oh, he believes you’ve come expressly to protect him. That’s why he wants to keep you.”
Ah yes. I was King Arthur’s property.
“Of your true purpose, however, I’m not certain. We’re at war,” Myrddin went on, popping a handful of nuts into his mouth. “A king has many enemies.”
“Sounds like he’s insecure.”
“Watch what you say, my lady. Besides, every king is insecure, as well he should be. An attempt was being made on his life even as you appeared. It happens all the time.”
“That’s no way to live.”
“It is his calling. He has no choice.”
That, I knew from the stories. I had thought of it as grand and heroic, as opposed to burdensome.
I sipped my tea. “What if he didn’t want to keep me?”
“That would depend upon you.” Myrddin selected a meat pastry. “If you committed an offense, perhaps, like treason—if you lied, for example—he’d have to kill you.” He took a bite and continued. “If he tired of you or you became useless, he’d simply turn you out.”
“I won’t commit treason. I’ll be useful.”
“That doesn’t mean you belong here.”
I wondered how I was going to make myself useful. I couldn’t imagine fending for myself on the open plains, but what did I have to offer a king? I didn’t even have the skills to survive Hollywood.
“The king called you his wizard,” I said. “Can you teach me?”
“I’m afraid he used the term broadly. I’m a natural philosopher, a physician. And I’m blessed with a plethora of assistants.” Finished eating, he wiped his hands on his robe. “Arthur knows my limitations.” He looked deep into my eyes. “He tells me you have magic.”
“I have...some powers,” I said, unable to hold his gaze. “But I wouldn’t mind picking up some other skills.” I had to buy time until I came up with a way to make myself indispensable.
“I’m pleased and amazed that magic exists in the future,” said Myrddin. “Here, it has almost disappeared. Arthur still believes, but he’s old-fashioned.” He stood. “Well! Soon enough, you and I shall begin seeking a way to send you home. Just...let’s not mention it to Arthur, shall we?” He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, towering over me once again. “Today, you rest. Tomorrow you have an audience with the king.”
FOURTEEN
I had to jog to keep up with Myrddin’s confident stride. My painfully stylish boots pinched my toes with every step. We retraced the path I’d taken from among the infirmary huts the day before, following it past my hut deep into the green, buzzing forest, until we stood at the bottom of a seemingly insurmountable stone stairway dappled in sunlight. Each of its risers was so steep and uneven I thought the old man wouldn’t make it to the top. But he skipped up it, his long, slender legs sticking out under his flowing robe. I scrambled up behind him as best I could, grabbing branches to balance myself and stopping to gasp for breath.
At the top of the stairs, a boy waited with two horses. His off-white tunic marked him as a member of Myrddin’s staff. Without a word, he blew a puff of air upwards to push his brown bangs from his eyes, then formed a lift with his hands to give me a leg up onto the back of a brown mare. The “leg up” business was clumsy (stirrups made so much more sense), and while I was at it Myrddin had already leapt aboard his fine, black steed and ridden away into the forest. Seated at last, I clucked to my mount, who was willing to trot. Further effort to catch up was outside her circle of interests, but when Myrddin’s horse slowed to a walk we were able to overtake him.
At first the wide, clear path was lined with rocks. Soon we came upon a pair of giant stones posed like sentries at either side of the way. Myrddin reined his horse to a stop and leaned so far to the side I thought he’d lose his leather cap in the underbrush. “These stone columns mark the entrance to my compound. But it wasn’t always mine. Look.” He pointed to deep curlicues carved into the giant stone. “A message from our ancestors. There have always been people here. There always will be.” He sighed. “I wish I knew what they meant to say. But do you see? It’s entirely possible to send messages to the future. It makes me hopeful we can send people as well.”
My mount swished a fly with her tail. I leaned across her neck to trace my finger along the intricate patterns in the cool, white stone. How deep in time had the inscription been made if even Myrddin couldn’t read it? Maybe we could send messages ahead, but the only people I knew of who went to the future were found there in the form of mummies and bones.
Beyond the stones, the woods grew wilder. I was forced to ride behind Myrddin much of the time because abundant flora crawled its way over the edges of the path so profusely we couldn’t ride two abreast. The trees were close enough to touch, and I sat astride my gentle mare paying little attention to what lay before me while reaching up, looking sideways, turning to follow a sound in the underbrush. Sometimes I was forced to duck to avoid being knocked off by low branches. Eventually our way grew so thick with growth it seemed not to be a path at all. At times I thought we were lost. Yet in less than an hour the forest thinned. Dark green paled to yellow at the edge of the woods, and we emerged from the trees into bright morning.
Our path met a road that led up the shaded west side of Cadebir hill, a road so wide it didn’t require switchbacks. At its summit stood a stone gatehouse about twice as large as the one atop the zig-zag path on the other side. This more impressive entry was well-provisioned, with armed men and a store of weapons.
A dozen guards greeted Myrddin with a respectful “Good morning, sir.” They bowed slightly to me, as though I gained respect by virtue of being with the old physician regardless of my blood-caked sweater and muddy cargo pants. I’d lost track of the number of days I’d been wearing those pants. I’d been wearing the underpants even longer.
&n
bsp; “Good morning, good morning,” Myrddin doffed his leather cap again and again, bowing like a showman. All attention was ours as we rode through the gate, like a famous client arriving at her trial with her celebrity lawyer.
The path from the entrance rose directly to the promontory where the hall sat with its cluster of huts. There, Myrddin dismounted and gave his reins to a groom. I followed his example, landing with a wobble. The groom bowed to Myrddin, watching me out of the corner of his eye.
Trotting to keep up, I followed Myrddin along the back side of the hall, where the fort's wall came within yards of the main buildings. A few cows stood stamping and blinking in a sunny pen near the wall. In the shade of the eaves of the hall, dozens of wild-looking fowl clucked in their pens. Outside a low building annexed to the larger one, a pack of shaggy dogs barked at us, standing their ground.
Two young women waited there beneath a wooden awning. The brunette stared at her hands, which were folded across her very pregnant belly. The redhead shooed the dogs away and gave Myrddin a coquettish smile. “The gentleman is required to wait outside,” she said.
“Of course.” Myrddin made no move to leave. “Casey. Lynet and Elaine will provide you with a bath in advance of your audience with the king.”
“Oh! Thank you.” I desperately needed a bath.
“This way,” said the redhead, leading into the annex with the light step of a dancer. We followed her into cool dimness where I collided with an animal carcass that hung from the ceiling. Bits of the unfortunate creature’s skin stuck to my sweater between the clumps of mud and dried blood already there.
“Sorry. I should have warned you,” said the redhead. “Careful. The floor’s slippery, too.”
We picked our way through a busy kitchen. The fragrance of spices mixed with the wet-raw smell of fresh meat. A woman stirred an iron cauldron, laughing with the men who stacked ceramic jugs atop lidded barrels. Fresh vegetables, the dirt still on them, lay heaped on wooden countertops by the windows.
Myrddin stopped to talk to a big-boned woman with red cheeks. “What’s to eat?” he asked her.
With a formidable cleaver, she whacked the head off a small, skinless creature. The whump of the knife hitting flesh and wood cut off her answer.
I followed my leaders through an archway to a workroom beyond the kitchen where the temperature was several degrees warmer, thanks to a fire burning in a pit in the far corner. The brunette scurried to the pit, skittering around piles of clothing on the floor. She stared at me from beneath lowered lids until I caught her eye. She blushed, looking away.
“Elaine thinks you’re going to cast spells on us,” said the redhead. She, then, would be Lynet. She looked all of seventeen and Elaine wasn’t much older. Lynet pulled a curly lock behind a pink ear, jangling the brass bangles on her arm. “Protection spells are fine but if you’ve any others, please save them for after the bath.” Her mischievous smile warmed me to her. “I’ll take your...er...garments.” She extended her dainty pinkies for me to hang my clothes on, thus allowing as little as possible of her surface area to come into contact with my odious apparel.
The women's eyes grew wide as I unzipped my boots, but neither commented. I set the boots aside. The rear pockets of my cargo pants dangled by threads. I peeled them off and hung them on Lynet's pinkie by a belt loop. My tee shirt couldn’t be saved, but I gave that over, too. The chain mail sweater I’d thought so apropos was stiff with mud and bloody remnants of the horrors it had seen, not to mention what some poor deer had seen. Lynet bundled them all at her feet.
The ragged chafing on my wrists and ankles had hardened to scabs. “I’ve never seen wounds like yours,” said Lynet. “Have you, Elaine?”
“Not on a woman I haven’t.” Elaine lumbered to the iron bath tub near the window, carrying a heavy pot from the fire. I didn’t think she should lift such things in her condition. She looked like she’d deliver in a matter of days. She poured the hot water into the tub, set down the pot and stared, dumbfounded, at my chest. “What’s that?”
My bra had suffered from the ordeal, but it was recognizable.
“It’s a bra. For...you know, managing my...breasts.”
“Ouch,” said Lynet.
“But your breasts don’t require management,” said Elaine.
Lynet laughed. “We bind with cloth, for comfort.” She gestured to the tub. “We’ll show you after the bath.”
Yes. The bath. Inhaling steam, I gripped the edges of the tub and raised my leg to swing it over and dunk a grimy toe. The water was just as I like it, on the edge of too hot.
“Wait.” Lynet drew in a little gasp. “Your wounds. The water will smart. Give me your foot.”
“Okay.” I balanced on one foot while Lynet folded her palms around my other ankle. She submerged it slowly, cushioning my raw skin from the sting.
“That’s got it?”
“Yes. Thanks.” Once both legs were submerged I lowered myself to sit, marveling at Lynet’s thoughtfulness, and at the same time, the water’s blessed sting.
Elaine followed Lynet’s example and helped me submerge my wrists. “Brutes.” She shook her head. But the sting was past. “Do all Saxon ladies wear toenail paint?” she asked.
“Oh. Uh, some,” I said, going along with her assumption. Perhaps rumor had it that I was a Saxon lady.
I hadn’t been washed by anyone besides myself since I was a baby. My dad had relished the opportunity to teach me about soap, bubbles or whatever was available. My mother must have washed me at some point, but I found it difficult to picture her involved in such a maternal task. She wouldn’t have let me drown, she’d just have forgotten to rinse my hair.
Elaine and Lynet were careful, their touch a comfort, a mothering. The rough soap they scrubbed me with smelled vaguely meaty. But the suds it made broke up the grime that had become caked on my surfaces. I closed my eyes and rested my head against the side of the tub, allowing myself to relax while the women scrubbed and chatted.
“Your husband will be here for the birth, then?” Lynet washed between my toes, which felt divine if she didn’t squeeze.
“Yes,” said Elaine, careful to pat softly around the bruise on my forehead while she lathered my hair. “Beatha says I’ve got a girl.”
“Lance must be disappointed.”
“He’s been sullen since his return from Poste Perdu. I don’t know why.” Elaine scratched the sides of my head a little too hard. “But Lancelot will do his duty by me.”
That couldn’t be right. Lancelot was glamorous. Elaine was artless and simple.
She changed the subject. “Have you seen Gareth yet?”
“Oh yes.”
I opened my eyes. Lynet blushed and flashed a bright smile. “Gareth and I are hand-fasted,” she told me.
“What’s that?”
Elaine stopped rubbing. “Don’t Saxons hand-fast?”
Maybe they did. “Um...no.”
“It’s a marriage vow for a year and a day,” said Lynet. “It’s taken at the festival of Calan Awst.” She skipped to the fire to retrieve another pot of water, holding the hot handle with a cloth. “If it doesn’t suit, you may undo the marriage the day after next Calan Awst.”
“Unless a child is conceived, then it stands,” said Elaine. There was my clue.
“And if you don’t undo the hand-fasting, you’re wed.” Lynet leaned against the tub. “Gareth and I will not be undoing. He says he’s destined to be tormented by me forever.” She tested the water’s temperature with her finger. “Ready to rinse?”
I nodded and closed my eyes. Warm water splashed the top of my head and flowed over me.
“Maybe you’ll meet someone here, Casey,” said Lynet. “It’s less than a month ‘til the festival. Or perhaps you’ve a love at home?”
“I’m not seeing anyone.”
“That’s a funny way to put it,” said Elaine, handing me a cloth.
I stood to dry off. “It seems there aren’t many women here.”
“Of course.”
Lynet offered a carved, bone comb from the pouch at her belt. “But everyone must work. I sew. Elaine oversees the washing. We have servants to help us.” Presenting moisturizer in the form of rosy-smelling oil she said, “Imported from Italy.”
“Such luxury.”
“Oh, not nearly. At the castle we have all the finest things.” She sighed. “I miss the coast. Elaine returns there soon.”
“Really? Why?”
Elaine handed me a splinter and a handful of leaves. “A war camp is not a place for babies.” She frowned, making her small nose wrinkle.
“Oh.”
Elaine pointed to the items I held. “That’s for cleaning your mouth.”
“Oh!” Splinter and leaves; a toothpick and fresh mint. Gratitude made my nose tingle.
I found binding to be more comfortable than a bra, though the ladies tied the fabric tight to keep it from slipping. Next came a linen underdress with a round neckline and long sleeves. It shielded my skin from the itchy wool tunic that went over it. Soft, leather shoes, a cross between moccasins and ballet slippers, replaced my painful boots. The straps were supposed to tie around my ankles, but for the time being I laced them up my legs to allow my wounds to heal.
Someone, presumably Lynet, had repaired my fanny pack with strong stitches where Bedwyr had slashed it, making it a usable, if not beautiful, belt. My money and credit cards, worthless at Cadebir, were still inside.
“You need something else.” Elaine untied a ribbon from her hair and with it, pulled together a lock of mine. “Keep that,” she said. “You’ll want to use it again.”
Lynet gave me one of her bracelets. “I have plenty.” She stood back to admire me. “King Arthur will be pleased, don’t you think, Elaine?”
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