Kingdom of Summer

by Gillian Bradshaw

  Maelgwn drummed on the table with his fingers. After a deliberate, awkward moment’s silence, he said smoothly, “It gives me pleasure to greet the emissaries of my lord the Pendragon, especially when they are led by so illustrious a nobleman as yourself, Lord Gwalchmai. Be free, Lord, of anything that is mine.” He gestured to one of the servants, and additional places were made at the high table to his right and left. “All that my hospitality can offer you is yours. You would be welcome to me, Lord Gwalchmai, for the sake of your royal family alone.”

  Someone in the Hall laughed, but fell abruptly silent. Again there was silence in the Hall but for the crackle of the fire and the whine of a hound.

  Gwalchmai bowed slightly, and said, with a smoothness excelling Maelgwn’s, “And I am welcome, I hope, for the sake of him who sent me here, by whose service I hold such honor as I possess. Though, indeed, it is a pleasure contrary to my expectations that I should meet my kin here. You, my lord father, I greet in my own name, and not in my lord Arthur’s, and so also do I greet my cousins and my brother.”

  Lot leaned forward, his hot eyes fixed on his son. He licked his lips nervously, but did not speak. The fair young man smiled again. Gwalchmai looked at him directly a moment and the smile faded, the eyes turned elsewhere. My lord lifted his sword-hilt and bowed once more, before sheathing the weapon and walking about the table to take his seat beside his father, on Maelgwn’s right. Rhuawn drifted off to the left, and I followed him hurriedly, not wanting to stand in the center an instant longer.

  There were a few servants coming and going about the table and I grabbed a flagon of mead from one, and hurried to pour it for Rhuawn and Gwalchmai. The alternative was to go and sit down at the far end of the Hall with Maelgwn’s servants, and the idea did not enrapture me. After the mead, I managed to grab a trencher of meat and offer that; Gwalchmai, however, ate nothing. I took the trencher back to a quiet corner on the right, and sat down with it and the remnants of the mead. The meat was lamb, cooked with plenty of mint and parsley, and was very good. I sat, eating it and watching my two warriors, plainly ready to serve their needs. I was close enough to hear what they spoke about, and I thought that, of the three of us, I was the most comfortable.

  Maelgwn began the conversation by asking both Gwalchmai and Rhuawn about the health and plans of everyone at Camlann, listening attentively and offering encouraging comments, as though he were a great friend of Arthur’s. Lot said nothing. The fair young warrior, who was now seated next to Rhuawn, attended him carefully, offering him water and salt and listening to whatever Rhuawn had to say, not looking at Gwalchmai at all.

  After a while, Maelgwn ran out of questions, and the conversation at the high table slithered to a halt, though the rest of the Hall was still noisy enough. In the silence there, Lot leaned suddenly forward, shook his head as though to clear it, and asked Gwalchmai, “And what of your brother Agravain?”

  Gwalchmai lifted his mead horn and studied it. “He too is at Camlann, and in good health.”

  “He is happy there?”

  My lord shrugged. “Happy as he may be, while the weather keeps him still. You know that he does not like to sit idle. In another month or so, my lord Arthur will probably set him to chasing bandits, and then he will be happy.”

  “Your lord Arthur.” Lot rested his chin on his hand, looking to Gwalchmai; his face was also turned towards me as he did so, and I could see that his eyes were narrow and fierce. “Your lord, Arthur. It is true that you have sworn that bastard warleader the Threefold Oath of allegiance?”

  “It is true, yes.” Gwalchmai set down his mead horn on its stand, firmly, and looked up at Lot. “For him, and for the cause we serve, I will live and die.”

  Lot’s mouth contracted, lips twisting as though in pain, but all he said was, “And Agravain?”

  “He has not sworn.” Gwalchmai hesitated, then added, “And yet he too would fight and even die for my lord Arthur.”

  Lot’s hand clenched to a fist, then relaxed, and he laid his palm flat against the table. “But still, he is not sworn to it. Well.” He gave Gwalchmai a long look, then smiled, a smile like the sun on a wave in summer. “You have changed since you…left Dun Fionn. They say that you are the finest warrior in Arthur’s Family.”

  Gwalchmai smiled back. “Only on horseback. Agravain can still lecture me on where to put my spear when I fight on foot.”

  Lot laughed. “The horses, the horses! That has always been our downfall with Arthur. Oh, his men fight well on foot, but it is the cavalry charge that breaks armies: and I hear that these days you lead the charge.”

  “Since we are at peace, no one leads the charge these days.”

  “But you have been leading it, which I never expected of you. Well enough! Let us have a song about our shame and Arthur’s glory, the High King’s horsemen.”

  One of Maelgwn’s poets struck up a song on the harp, and began to sing of one of Arthur’s battles, a song I am sure was not often sung in that Hall. For the rest of the evening mercifully little was said.

  At some unreasonably late hour of the night the feast ended, and we were escorted to a small hut Maelgwn had allotted us, apologizing as he did so for the poverty of the accommodations. Degannwy, it seemed, was crowded, as well it might be with the King and Queen of the Ynysoedd Erch and their retinues packed into it. Our hut had but a single room, with two low beds, but it was nonetheless both clean and warm, and had its own fire.

  Gwalchmai dropped onto one bed and sat with his head in his hands and his elbows on his knees. Rhuawn, after a moment’s hesitation, took the other bed and began to untie his leggings. Since I, obviously, was to sleep on the floor, I began unpacking.

  After a little while Gwalchmai sat up and began to build the fire up for the night. Rhuawn took off his mail-shirt, wrapped it in an oilskin, then pounded the bed a couple of times before lying down and arranging his sword by his head. “Do we keep watch?” he asked Gwalchmai.

  My lord shook his head. “There is no point keeping watch against what we have to fear now. We must sleep, and trust God that we will wake again.”

  “So there is danger.”

  “Great danger.” Gwalchmai sat back down and began to untie his over-tunic. “I…my mother tried to kill me when I left Dun Fionn.”

  “Ah. I had heard that was the case.” Rhuawn rolled over onto his stomach and looked at his friend. “Tell me, was it by sorcery?”

  Gwalchmai drew off his over-tunic, then nodded, folding it.

  “Well. I never thought to fight devils. I was told it was a privilege of the blessed angels.” He smiled. “I don’t qualify.”

  Gwalchmai smiled and shook his head. “Cousin, I am glad of you.” He looked around for another oilskin for his chain mail, and I handed him one from the pack.

  “Will you go back to Camlann as soon as your horse is rested?” asked Rhuawn.

  With his mail-shirt half off, Gwalchmai froze. “Go back? Why should I?”

  Rhuawn shrugged. “I would not care to fight against my own blood, and my own father. In all loyalty to our lord, a man cannot oppose his clan.”

  Gwalchmai took the shirt off hurriedly. “It is not like that.” Rhuawn and I both looked at him, and he spread his hands. “It is not a question of my family against Arthur’s family. It is a question of Darkness against Light, and I am for Arthur.” When Rhuawn still said nothing, he went on, “Don’t you see that this is my mother’s work? My father never visited Britain except when one of his allies summoned him to fight, and then he came at the head of an army. Otherwise, he plotted and dictated letters and listened to his spies. He would not of his own accord be here with a fox-faced schemer like Maelgwn. And because it is my mother’s work…” He took a deep breath. “Listen. The Saxons desire our lands. Well; and we try to prevent them from taking them. But the Saxons do not desire to see the lands empty, swallo
wed by wilderness, while the people flee and starve or go in fear. My mother does. If the Saxons put out the light in Britain, they may make some light of their own; but my mother wishes to see all drowned in Darkness, and revenge herself. Can one make peace with that?”

  “Why should she desire such things?” I asked.

  “Perhaps at first she did not desire them. But now she does. I know. No one knows her as well as I do. Perhaps my brother Medraut knows her well, but I think not as well. She taught me sorcery. That is my guilt, for I asked her to, when I was young, but from this I know that desire she has, the desire to drink up all the world into her own will, and to break all that will not be devoured. I know her…why do you think I speak British with a Dumnonian accent, while Agravain sounds as though he had just left Erin? I spent time with her.”

  “Your brother Medraut speaks British with a Dumnonian accent,” observed Rhuawn softly. I realized that the fair young warrior must have been this Medraut. “He seems a good enough man.”

  “Ah God! Poor Medraut. I do not know how it is with him now, whether he has escaped her or not; but if he has not, she will use him up, as she has used up my father. We must fight her, Rhuawn.”

  Rhuawn fondled his sword-hilt. “In that case, brother, let us sleep with a calm mind, for we will need our strength when it comes to battle.”

  “Good advice, my lord,” I suggested. “You yourself have said that Maelgwn would be unlikely to kill us, and this is still his fortress. Go to sleep.”

  Gwalchmai sighed and lay down, but left his hand resting on his sword-hilt, the sheathed blade lying beside him. I decided to leave the rest of the unpacking for the morning, and made myself comfortable in front of the hut’s door, then blew out the lamp. With a few blankets under me the floor wasn’t too hard, and I was, at all events, too tired to care if Morgawse of Orcade herself had dropped through the smoke hole with half a dozen demons in her train.

  But I dreamed all that night, dreamed that I struggled in a vast, black ocean, thrashing desperately towards a light which receded endlessly away. After an eon, it seemed that my feet hit solid stone, and I stood and staggered towards the light, which glowed brighter, like a star come to earth. But just before I reached it, it vanished with a sound like thunder, and I saw only Medraut ap Lot, holding a naked sword in his hand, and smiling.

  EIGHT

  Perhaps it was because of the nightmares, but I woke very early the next morning, feeling tired and depressed. The fire was low and the house very dark; both my warriors were still asleep. I dressed and went to the door. The morning was misty and cold. I looked back into the house. Rhuawn turned his head away from the light and muttered. I noticed that Gwalchmai’s fingers were still curled about his sword, but he was smiling, as though his dreams were better than mine had been. I sighed and went out, closing the door behind me.

  I wanted some hot water to wash in, and decided that it must be possible to get something to heat it in right in our own hut, so as not to compete with all of Maelgwn’s warband in the Hall—if they washed, which I wasn’t sure of. Breakfast could be eaten in the Hall, but it would be pleasanter to find some bread and bacon in the kitchen and bring it back. For both needs I’d have to take on Maelgwn’s servants, and find the kitchens.

  After getting lost three times in the mist and the unfamiliar stronghold, I finally found my goal, in the back of the Hall. A few servants were lounging about the low-roofed room, heating water and kneading bread, but there did not seem to be anyone who was in charge. Nor did anyone wish to pay any attention to me. Everyone I advanced on seemed suddenly to remember something which had to be done, and vanished, or else stared at me stupidly, as though they couldn’t understand my Dumnonian accent. Exasperated, I sat down directly before the main fire, in everyone’s way.

  After a little while, a plumpish, rather pretty flaxen-haired girl marched up to the fire with a large copper dish held over her arm. There was water in it, and it looked about the right size. I eyed it appreciatively.

  The girl halted in front of me and glared. “Move over, if you please,” she ordered. I started: she had an Irish accent.

  “Who’s that kettle for?” I asked.

  “The Queen,” she replied shortly.

  Maelgwn was not married, so there was only one queen in Degannwy. I reluctantly gave up my designs on the kettle, and moved over. “Where did you get the kettle?” I asked her.

  “A hen laid it in the rafters, having been affrighted in a coppersmith’s shop,” said the girl. “Who are you?”

  “I, woman, am Rhys ap Sion, the lord Gwalchmai’s servant. We need a kettle.”

  “Indeed?” said the girl. She hung the kettle over the fire and stood back, her hands on her hips. “And what do you want with a kettle?”

  I grinned. “I need to make a brood-nest for your hen. Come, who’s in charge here? My lord will want some hot water for washing when he wakes up.”

  She shrugged. “There is an old man named Saidi ap Sugyn—you British have such strange names—whom I was told to mind about the kitchens.”

  “Where is he, then?”

  She tossed her head. “Och ai, he is minding his bed. He will not rise until noon, and he goes to bed at nightfall, and all the while he is awake he complains that he is tired. It is not in my mind to mind him at all, and the rest of the servants are like minded.”

  “I mind that he is not here when I want him. Where does he sleep?”

  “His house is just behind the kitchen. But I would not wake him, or he will be angry, and stint you on bread.”

  “He may try that as he pleases, but he will not succeed,” I boasted, and gave a slight bow to the girl before striding off through the kitchen. Only for an instant: my Irish servant girl shouted, “Hai! Rhys ap Sean!”

  I stopped. She was still standing at the fire, rocking on her heels a little. “You are heading into the feast hall, Rhys ap Sean, lord Gwalchmai’s servant. Saidi’s house is behind the kitchen, the other way.” She gave me a self-delighted smile. “Come, I’ll show you myself.” She tripped off, and I followed, feeling ridiculous.

  Saidi ap Sugyn was annoyed at being woken. He swore at me, complained about his age and general health, complained about southerners, the Irish, and the Pendragon, but eventually told me to take any kettle I wanted and go to Yffern with it. The serving girl giggled at me when we came back to the kitchen, so I made her go out of her way to show me where the kettles and the food were. I took an extra loaf of bread, beyond what we needed for breakfast, just in case.

  As I walked back to our house I considered Degannwy. I suspected—and later knew for certain—that the place was badly run. The servants, from the steward on down, were overworked and underfed; and, from the steward on down, they made up for this by stealing and cheating whenever they could, and afterwards blackmailing each other with having done it. In consequence, everyone was ill-equipped and miserable. Eggs would disappear before they were needed in a cake; knives and pots vanished steadily, often reappearing, no one knew how, for sale on a market day. A woman would set out to weave a cloak, and when she was half-finished, discover there was no more wool to be had, and when she did get some more wool, there was no dye or the wrong dye for it. Maelgwn’s warriors knew what was happening, and beat the servants freely, and the servants beat each other and the dogs, and cheated even more. And yet the place held together remarkably well, for everyone blamed their troubles on the high tribute demanded by Arthur, and held the Pendragon’s wars against the Saxons to be the root of all their own wretched little difficulties; and everyone was afraid of his neighbor and his superior, and did not dare to carry his dishonesty to its extreme. So Degannwy was a strong fortress, but it was no joy to anyone. Its strength was of opposition only, as I saw it, without an instant’s unity of mind or charity of thought to bind it into a civilized living place like Camlann.

  I had more
time to myself at Degannwy than I had had at Camlann. I was recognized as the Lord Gwalchmai’s servant, and, as such, had no part in the life of the fortress. That left only two warriors and one house to worry about, with the horses from Caer Legion, and Rhuawn helped with those. Gwalchmai was at first very busy waiting upon Maelgwn, or, occasionally, talking to his father. He wrote Arthur a letter the afternoon of our first day in Degannwy, informing the Emperor about the situation. He rode from Degannwy with this sheet of parchment hidden under his shirt, telling the guards at the gate that he wished to exercise his horse. I am still not sure exactly how it reached Arthur. The Emperor has men in Gwynedd who report Maelgwn’s movements to him, and Gwalchmai knew where to leave a message, though he could not speak directly to any of these men without endangering their lives. At any rate, he came back without the letter. He then spent his time talking to Maelgwn and Maelgwn’s men, at least once a day. The matter of the tribute was settled—Maelgwn admitted he must have “made a mistake,” and would give an additional amount the next year to compensate—but very little more was learned of what Lot and Morgawse were saying to Maelgwn privately. There did not seem to be any preparations for a war: no messengers rushed to and from the Ynysoedd Erch or the various chieftains of Gwynedd; no one was gathering supplies; there were no long training expeditions of the warband into the countryside—but it was plain enough that two such kings would not be meeting unless they had something of the sort in mind.

  In all his conversations with Maelgwn or with the warriors from the Islands, Gwalchmai avoided very thoroughly any encounter with his mother and his younger brother. When finished with his official work he usually rode out into the mountains and did not return until nightfall. When he was present, he was rather unnerving. While unfailingly courteous, remotely willing to oblige, and well able to be charming with Maelgwn, I could never feel that he was really there, caring about what anyone was saying. He had abstracted himself to some terribly silent place behind his eyes, and, from that first night on, refused to drop his guard with anyone. I could dimly see that his mother’s presence at Degannwy might disturb him, but I didn’t like it. And I could not see why he so avoided his brother. Rhuawn and I agreed that Medraut was a surprisingly likeable man.