And yet, when I had seen her room and helped to clean it, I could find no evidence that the Queen practiced sorcery. She had a few books about, but nothing else, and I could not tell what the books were. Medraut insisted that she was no witch, and that her reputation was merely an envious legend, begun because she was beautiful and intelligent and skilled at governing. “And because she has a certain air about her. My brother has the same look, sometimes.” But I could not think that she and Gwalchmai were at all alike in their respective otherworldliness, and I knew that Medraut was wrong. Probably, I told myself, he says what he would like to believe.
As a few weeks passed, Rhuawn became determined that Gwalchmai and Medraut should speak to each other properly, and reconcile their differences. He asked Medraut over to our hut one afternoon, and kept him late, without warning Gwalchmai of what he did. Most of the afternoon was the usual pleasant, relaxed conversation; and then the door opened and Gwalchmai appeared. It was twilight behind him, and raining, and my lord’s hair was plastered down from the wet, while he was dripping and tired looking. But he took one look at Medraut, and both froze. For a moment I thought Gwalchmai would back out into the rain again, giving some errand as an excuse. Rhuawn stood hastily, greeting Gwalchmai and offering him mead. Gwalchmai did not even look at him, but stood and stared at Medraut.
Medraut stared back. The two faces, the dark and the fair, were still as the sky, only their eyes brilliant and cold. Then, between one blink and the next, Gwalchmai strode across the room and stood above his brother looking down at him. The open door let in a wet night smell, and the rain dripped from his cloak onto the floor.
“What are you doing here?” Gwalchmai’s voice was quiet, but something in his tone told me that here was danger.
Medraut uncurled himself from before the fire and stood, brushing wood ash from his shoulder, then smiling hesitantly. “I was asked here, brother. If you don’t want me, I will go.”
Gwalchmai glanced at Rhuawn, at me. “Truly. You were asked. But what were you doing, Medraut?”
The other smiled, nervously, apologetically. “I was playing the harp, the way you taught me once. What is wrong in that?”
“That is not what I meant.” Gwalchmai stared at his brother steadily. Some water ran from his hair and crawled down one cheek, shining like red bronze in the firelight. “Medraut.” His voice had changed, become earnest. “Once you wished to be another CuChulainn for strength and skill, and for courage and honor, and I thought you might be such a one. Is it all nothing to you beside a whisper in the dark, and the hope of a purple cloak in the daylight?”
For just an instant I thought I glimpsed something strange in Medraut’s face, a chill, bitter darkness rushing behind his eyes. But that was only for an instant, and then he was smiling, ruefully and painfully, and I doubted whether I had seen anything. “Still unyielding?” he asked Gwalchmai. “Are we nothing to you, your family and your homeland, whom you loved once? Are we sold, for a white horse and a sword and a place behind the Pendragon?”
“I sold nothing, only gave it, and to the Light first, not to Arthur. And for all the grief, it is worth it. Is your bargain the same, Medraut?”
Medraut moved quickly to the door, caught it and stood with his hand on the latch. “I can do nothing here.” He did not look at his brother, and his voice was strained by some inner pain. “If you still wish, Rhuawn, we can go hunting tomorrow. Good night, Gwalchmai.” He slipped out, closing the door behind him.
Rhuawn stared at Gwalchmai angrily, but said nothing.
Gwalchmai sighed, unpinned his cloak, and stood a moment holding it, the crimson vivid against his thin, dark frame. Hesitantly he sat down, looked at Rhuawn, looked at me.
“You must not believe Medraut,” he said at last. “Whatever he is planning, it is not to your good.”
Rhuawn said nothing. I did not know what to say. My lord had not treated his brother prettily. But after a while, I offered Gwalchmai some mead, simply to break the silence. I thought for a moment he would go on talking about Medraut, but he only took the mead, ran a narrow hand through his wet hair, and began to sip the hot drink slowly.
The following day, when I went to meet Eivlin and rapped on her door, she did not at once call out “Come in!” I waited a moment, then rapped again. This time a voice did call, “Come.”
I pushed the door open and stopped short. Morgawse of Orcade was sitting with her back to me, tying her black hair up with a strand of gold. She was wearing only a shift of crimson linen through which every line of her body was visible, and she sat looking into a bronze mirror. I could see her face in the mirror, and the opened door with my own form reflected frozen there. Her imaged eyes met mine, and her mouth contracted. She turned. I let my eyes rest on her reflection, afraid—I will admit it—to look into her face.
“What are you doing here?” Her voice was softer than thistledown, but cold to freeze the marrow of my bones.
“Eivlin,” I gasped. “I…I was going to help her mend the thatch.”
“Your help is unnecessary. Go—no, wait.” She rose and came towards me, and I had to look away from the mirror. I heartily wished myself elsewhere, and wondered why I had ever left my home. I cannot explain it, but this woman froze my blood. “You are Gwalchmai’s servant, aren’t you?”
“Yes, Great Queen,” I mumbled.
She smiled sweetly. “Then it is most generous of you to help us with our business. What is your name?”
I licked my lips, not wanting to speak of anything which might give her power over me and mine, but I had to say, “Rhys ap Sion, Lady.”
“Rhys ap Sion.” She toyed with a gold pendant about her neck, her eyes fixed on mine. I felt dizzy, and squirmed inwardly, but I remembered my boasts to Eivlin, and just managed to stand straight and stare back.
She dropped the pendant. “It is most generous. Does your lord, my son, know that you do this?”
I nodded, then shook my head.
“Perhaps he commanded you to,” she said, still smiling. “I think that he did.” She reached out and rested one hand on my shoulder, then leaned forward, her lips slightly parted, still smiling. “He is welcome to whatever you see. Tell him so. But be warned that I do not like to be spied upon, Rhys ap Sion, and those who do so…well.” She dropped her arm. “Eivlin is in the kitchens for the day. Perhaps you can seek her there.”
I bowed deeply and left. As I stepped out of the door I nearly walked into Maelgwn of Gwynedd. He snarled at me and struck out, and I ducked, turning the movement into a bow and a muttered apology, and strode off as fast as I could. But behind me I heard him greet Morgawse, and I heard her low laugh, while a glance over my shoulder showed me that she was closing the door, and his arm was about her waist.
I walked halfway to the kitchens and stopped and stood on the clean grass with the clear sky over me. Gwalchmai had said that it was Morgawse who led the plotting, and truly, withered old King Lot did not look capable of it. Lot had worked in a world of armies and alliances, but Morgawse was more subtle. Morgawse would dominate her allies’ minds and subjugate them not to a cause, but to herself, and she would start with Maelgwn. No matter who had invited whom, she was sleeping with the king of Gwynedd, and was going to dictate his counsels. The Ynysoedd Erch were simply too far away for her to work as she pleased, and so she had come to Gwynedd to hunt for a tool. Lot mac Cormac probably knew nothing about any of the plans, but there were probably others who did…
I turned from the kitchens towards the stables, hoping to find Gwalchmai.
As it happened, he was not there, but in the practice yard nearby, throwing spears at a target from horseback. Ceincaled swooped about the yard as lightly as a swallow darting about a barn, and Gwalchmai seemed to be a part of him, while the flung spears flew straight and steady. It was a fine sight, but I was in no temper to sit back and admire it.
> “My lord!” I shouted. He glanced at me, then turned Ceincaled in an easy semi-circle and cantered over. He reined in before me and leaned over, elbow on knee, to listen to me.
“My lord,” I repeated, “do you have any business in the next hour? There is a matter I need to talk to you about.”
He sighed. “There is nothing urgent. Maelgwn is engaged this morning. Only…must you?”
I glared at him irritably. “I must. And privately.”
He straightened. “Och ai, in that case—does your horse need exercise?”
I soon had my wretched beast from Caer Legion saddled, and we rode out of the gates and into the mountains. It was early April, and the snow had melted. All the earth was green and misty, and sounded with streams. It made me think of the planting season and the green corn, and young lambs and calves to worry about at home. A deal of work, spring, but a good season.
Gwalchmai hummed abstractedly for a while, and sang a little in Irish. I tried to piece my thoughts together, and wondered how to communicate them. After all, she was still his mother, and warriors kill men for making such suggestions.
“My lord,” I said at last.
“So,” replied Gwalchmai. “You wish to talk about my brother.”
I was taken aback. “Indeed not, my lord. About your mother.” And I told him what Morgawse had said to me that morning, and that I had seen Maelgwn going to her, “to talk.”
Gwalchmai heard me out with patience, and when I ground to a halt he said, “And you think she commits adultery with Maelgwn?”
“My lord,” I drew a deep breath, “in due respect, I do.”
To my surprise he smiled a little, bitterly. “She does, if you doubt it.”
I stopped my horse. “You know?”
He nodded, gestured with open hands. “I know my mother. I have been watching Maelgwn. The whole fortress knows, though they wouldn’t mention it before us, of course. She has been quite open about it. I could almost be sorry for Maelgwn, only I so pity Lot.”
My face felt hot, and I looked between my horse’s ears. To have come to my lord in such high haste, with such urgency, and such stale news! “Lot knows too?” I asked.
“He probably knew before ever they set sail from the islands.” I looked up sharply, and he added, quickly, not looking at me, “No. He is not indifferent to it. He would not assent—only he cannot any longer deny her any whim that enters her thoughts. He cannot decide anything for himself, Rhys. He still desires, and wills, but he cannot act. He…” Gwalchmai extended one hand vaguely in the air, “he has withered away. He is only a shadow now, a ghost among his own warriors, who stares and cannot speak. I go to speak with him, and I tell him how things stand, with Agravain and with myself, and he is glad of this thing or that, but to act,” his hand clenched convulsively, “he is like a dotard. And he is the one who was the shield of his people, the bulwark of the warband, leader of a thousand spears; the lord of Dun Fionn and the Orcades and all the islands to the north and the west of Caledon, ruler by his own strength and cunning and courage! Sweet heaven, how she has used him!” He brought his hand down against his thigh, half raised it again, then straightened the fingers with an effort. He rubbed the worn leather of the reins, looking off towards the mountains. Ceincaled tossed his head and walked on. The hooves of our horses made a steady rhythm against the earth.
I sat still, knowing that I couldn’t say anything, and that it was best to leave him be for a while. It no longer surprised me that he spent so much time by himself, nor that he was remote when he was in Degannwy. He had quite enough worries as it was, without additional difficulties from Rhuawn and myself. Sweet Jesu, what a family! Except for Medraut, my lord could well afford the loss of the whole royal clan of the Ynysoedd Erch.
Except Medraut…and Gwalchmai asserted that Medraut was as bad, close to the Queen and following in her road. Medraut, however, asserted—though never in so many words—that Gwalchmai was indifferent to his family and to natural affection, cruel, and concerned primarily with his own honor. Well, Medraut didn’t properly understand the circumstances.
But could he, in his position, really not understand them?
I found myself weighing the two brothers in my mind. Gwalchmai, I knew, was accomplished in eloquence and courtesy, and, having seen him being persuasive with Maelgwn and his nobles, I knew that he could be very persuasive indeed when he set his mind to it. Medraut had a double measure of the same eloquence, and a graceful, amiable charm as well, a very real and forceful charm. I could not believe that he was what Gwalchmai asserted him to be, and yet I suddenly wished that I spoke Irish and could question Lot’s servants about Medraut, to see if his deeds matched his words. No, I liked Medraut, I was sure there would be a good report of him…
On the other hand, I was not quite as sure as all that. The manner in which he treated Eivlin leapt before my mind. No matter what task she was engaged in, he expected her to drop it at once if he told her to run and fetch something; indeed, I’d originally offered to help the girl precisely because of that. And I had a nagging awareness that he treated her better than he treated most servants. And yet, I argued, for a nobleman to be unaware of servants’ feelings meant very little. Medraut was royally born and, unlike his brother, he had never left his privileged position. He could simply assume that servants were there to do things for him, and so be annoyed when they failed to, because that was what he had always known. I liked Medraut. There was some way, I was sure, in which it could be seen that both Gwalchmai and Medraut spoke the truth, and the whole problem was a misunderstanding.
But still, I might do well to ask Eivlin about Medraut, and perhaps even ask her to interpret what Lot’s other servants had to say.
I looked back to Gwalchmai. He had settled somewhat after his outburst, leaning back in the saddle, one arm crossed under the other. I cleared my throat. “My lord, since you know that Morgawse is…scheming with Maelgwn” (after all, that was the significant part) “do we know what they’re planning? At all?”
He sighed a little and shrugged. “They have written letters, some of which were sent to the north. That much I know. But it is not likely to be open war, not now.” He hesitated, then said quietly, “I should have told Rhuawn, and you, that we knew so much; and yet I could not. I fear I have been poor company, this last month. Forgive me. It has been a distraction to me, my family, and there has been this trouble about my brother.”
I nodded to indicate sympathy, and bit my tongue to stop myself asking more about Medraut. He straightened and tightened the reins a little, and Ceincaled pricked his ears forward.
“We’ve a fine hillside here,” said Gwalchmai. “Why don’t we gallop?” He touched his stallion and was off, and I kicked my own beast into following him.
We rode directly north from the fortress, heading towards the main east-west road, keeping the highest mountain peaks behind us and to our left. The land was wild, but much of it only seemed to be deserted, and in the summer was used for pasturage. It was a sweet country, if not a rich one, and it was a fine day to be away from Degannwy and out in the clean bright air. After a little while, Gwalchmai turned off the track we had followed, heading as though for a cleft between two large hills, and we slowed to a walk again. Gwalchmai glanced back at me, smiled, and checked his mount until I caught up.
“Rhys,” he said. “Can you climb trees?”
I opened my mouth, then closed it again like a fish. “My lord? I mean, yes. Ordinary trees, that is, not ash trees. But…”
“That is well. I am not good at it myself. We do not have many trees in the islands.” He smiled again and explained, “There is a tree where one of my lord’s men here in Gwynedd leaves the letters and messages which my lord sends me. But one must climb to reach the place, and, as I said, I am not good at climbing trees.”
We rode on for a little way, then Gwalchmai
stood in the saddle, peering at something, and then turned Ceincaled to the right. Soon we came to the edge of a wood, and there, huge and pre-eminent, stood a large oak tree. My lord reined in his horse and dismounted. “This is the one,” he said, staring at one of the branches. “And there is a message.”
I looked at the branch. It looked like a branch, to me. “How can you tell?”
He glanced back to me. “There was a sprig of holly back where we turned off the road. That means that I am to check the tree. If the message is urgent, there is a sprig of pine as well. When I have the message, I take the twigs away.” He placed one palm against the oak and looked up it again. “Can you climb this?”
It had wide-spreading branches at some distance from the ground, but a large fork within grabbing distance. “Certainly.” I jumped from my horse and clambered up. Just like the apple trees in my clan’s orchards.
“Where do they put this letter, then?”
“There’s a hollow where that big branch joins the larger fork, to your right…yes, there.”
I leaned over and searched the hollow with my hand. Something prickly. I pulled it out: it was a pine cone. I held it in my other hand and reached again: only rough oak bark and the sodden remains of last year’s leaves.
“There’s nothing here,” I told Gwalchmai.
“Nothing? What’s that in your hand?”
“Only a pine cone.”
“That’s the message. You’re sure there’s nothing more?”
I said I was sure, and he told me to climb down. When I reached him he took the pine cone and turned it in his fingers.
“Do you break it open?” I asked, intrigued by the ingenuity of the system.
He shook his head. “No. It only means that Arthur received my last letter safely.” He sighed, tossed the pine cone into the wood and walked back to Ceincaled. “I was hoping for more.”
Kingdom of Summer Page 16
