Gwalchmai drew his left hand away, his palm bloody from clasping the blade, then lowered his right arm, the sword swinging level again. The light faded to a ripple along the steel.
Morgawse lowered her arms and stared at us over Medraut’s motionless body. Her crimson gown was crumpled, and the corners of her lips and eyes drooped. For the first time I saw lines in her face and white in her hair, and I knew that, like any other woman, she grew old. I turned away and unlatched the door. The mountain breeze was sliding along the heather, and the last of the sunset transfigured the mountains.
Gwalchmai’s hand dropped to my arm a moment, fell away. “Let us go,” he said, quietly, and, to Morgawse, “Mother, much health.”
“No!” shrieked Morgawse. She stumbled forward, nearly tripped over Medraut. “No!” in desperation. I turned my back and stepped out the door, and Gwalchmai followed silently. “No, no!” she cried again, and began to sob. “Do not leave me, I beg you! Still I am powerful, I can recover—give me time, a few days only…” And I thought she no longer spoke to us, but to some demon she had long served; but I did not look back. Behind me Gwalchmai gently closed the door.
TWELVE
It was not as easy to leave as I had assumed. Beside Morgawse, Medraut’s six mounted warriors had seemed an insignificant detail; but when we were outside and facing the road home I realized that six armed men are never insignificant. We went only a little way down the hill before Ronan saw us and began giving us orders in Irish, presumably to stop and go back. Gwalchmai gave a high, clear whistle, and Ceincaled cantered about the hill to him as he started to argue with the other. I should have expected that he had the stallion nearby. Medraut’s men leapt onto their own horses, and Gwalchmai was fighting them before either of us had time to think about what was happening. The fight was not, however, fiercely contested. Medraut’s men were nervous to begin with, and when Gwalchmai put a spear through Ronan, then drew his sword and cut down one other man, the rest turned their horses and fled. Too much had already happened for me to think or feel much about it. I simply caught Ronan’s warhorse, mounted, and Gwalchmai and I set off. The first stars were kindling in the east.
“My lord,” I said, after a few minutes. “We are taking the same path the Queen’s warriors took. How far do you mean to follow them?”
He shook his head. He looked drained, haggard with weariness and strain—as he ought to, after what had happened in the hut. “We do not follow them. They have friends in Degannwy. Let them hurry to reach the fortress. We must find a place to camp tonight.”
I nodded, then asked, “How did you find me? What has happened in Degannwy?”
He raised his left hand in a gesture of protest, then frowned at the blood on it. “Please,” he said, lowering the hand and staring at it. “It is late tonight. There is too much to ask and to answer, for both of us, to do it now. The morning will come soon enough.”
We did not go very far that night. We turned north on the road to Degannwy, riding towards the main road since we did not trust our welcome at the fortress. But we turned aside shortly before the Roman road and found a good, sheltered camping place in a wood. There we built a fire and hobbled our horses, turning them loose to graze.
The air held a sharp chill, and it seemed damp in the wood. I did not anticipate sleeping well. But I could not consider looking for shelter at some farm holding nearby. Something of Gwalchmai’s wariness had forced itself upon me, and I could not trust the world at large. I thought of my family, and suddenly felt horribly lonely. Morgawse was defeated, Gwalchmai still alive, and it was all too much for me. These vast conflicts were too absolute and lofty and remote from the texture of my life. I wanted home, the cow byres and the fields green with new grain, the warmth of the hearth fire and the voices and faces of my family: I was sick with the want of them. Sitting there in a wood in Gwynedd, with the huge mountains brooding around me, I thought of everything familiar and longed with all my being to go home.
Gwalchmai came over to the fire with his saddle-bags, and the hilt of his sword caught the light for an instant, as though about to burn of its own accord again. What, I wondered, did I have to do with him? There he was, royally born, Morgawse’s son, perfectly accustomed both to dangerous battles and otherworldly conflicts. He belonged to all this. I did not, and I wanted to go home. Most simply put, I was tired.
Gwalchmai set down the pack and dropped beside the fire. “I have some bread and cheese here,” he offered, softly. “Also, some ale. I remembered how you liked it.” He opened the pack and handed me the ale.
I looked at the flask a moment, wanting either to laugh or sob. “Thank you, my lord,” I said at last. He smiled and began to pull out the bread and cheese.
It was not much of a meal. I could have eaten good red meat, and the cheese was sad stuff. But I imagined Gwalchmai trying to coax it from Saidi ap Sugyn in the kitchens at Degannwy, and was amazed that he’d managed to get the ale. Saidi must have made him pay for it. If I had been there—well, but Gwalchmai was Gwalchmai, and I couldn’t be annoyed with him for that. And I enjoyed the meal. Any food would have tasted delicious just then.
Despite my forebodings I slept soundly, though when I woke I found my neck stiff, my limbs aching from the damp, and my head giving the odd twinge now and then. Well, the way to cure that was to move about. I got up to find Gwalchmai saddling the horses. He gave me a smile and greeted me, and I managed to reply without being rude. The sun was just up, drawing the chill, damp mists out from the mountains, and I was glad to get on my horse and trot out onto the road. The motion at least was warming. Gwalchmai handed me the remainder of the bread and cheese, and I hacked off some of each and gave the rest back to him. I liked the food even less than I had the night before, but I was hungry. Gwalchmai apparently was too, for he finished what I’d given him, which I had not entirely expected.
We reached the main road very quickly and drew in our horses to stand for a moment, seeing how the line of it curled off into the mist. The morning sun was a brilliant blur eastward, and I thought the air should clear before too long.
Gwalchmai sighed and turned his eyes from the road over to me.
“Rhys,” he said, then stopped.
“My lord?”
“You said, yesterday, that you had found Elidan.”
So I had. I had forgotten about that. “I have, my lord. She’s at an abbey called St. Elena’s, the sister foundation of Opergelei monastery.”
“An abbey?”
“She’s become a nun, my lord. I found her because Eivlin was struck by some curse from the Queen, and sick, and we could not go far, and this St. Elena’s was the nearest shelter.” I could not mention Gwyn, I reminded myself.
“Who is Eivlin?”
I realized that he must have been unaware that she existed. I thrashed about for a bit, trying to explain, and we turned down onto the road, following it westward at my direction. Then I simply told him all that had happened from the argument with Rhuawn until Eivlin had collapsed. I concluded by saying, “I put her on the pony and went on until we met a person from this St. Elena’s, who showed us the way to the abbey. Elidan was working in the infirmary there, with another sister. Eivlin was still asleep when Medraut came to bring me back to the Queen, and she wouldn’t wake, whatever the healers did to her. I had intended, my lord, to send you a letter and ask you to come and see if there was any way you could help her.”
“Of course,” said Gwalchmai. He looked westward along the road eagerly, his eyes very bright. “Opergelei is near the sea; and you say that St. Elena’s is near it?” He touched Ceincaled to a canter. “Elidan! To see her once more! Did you speak to her?”
Kicking my beast savagely to make it keep up, I became angry. Elidan, Elidan, but it was Eivlin who was hurt, Eivlin who’d risked her life, “I did. But can you help Eivlin?”
He shrugged, noticed my look
, and slowed Ceincaled to a walk again. “Och ai, this is a great burden to you.”
“And it ought to be, seeing that she saved my life and that I intend to marry her.”
His startled look slowly gave way to a delighted smile. “So that is the way of it. I am glad for you, cousin.” He looked down the road again. “It is probable that I can help her. Or rather, that she can be helped by my being there, with the sword. I do not know. I have never practiced such things. But you can have hope, and I will do all that I can—but forbear me, Rhys, because I am sick to see her: what did she say to you, Elidan?”
He was saying nothing more than the truth, I knew, when he promised to do all he could for Eivlin. But he was wild for Elidan, and could pay attention to little else. It was a hard question to answer, and I sat a while, rubbing at a spot in the saddle. Eventually, I looked back up to him. He was watching me like the hawk of his name watching an intruder. It was best to meet his gaze evenly and say only the truth. “She was…angry, afraid, when she found that I was your servant, though she did not hold me responsible for what you did nine years ago. But she has not forgiven you, and I think that she has made the thing worse, in imagination, than it actually was. She grieves over her honor, which she thinks she has lost. She says that she will not forgive you, but she will see you.”
“Ah.” He looked away. Even without repeating her bitter accusations, it was bad enough. After a while, “Well, I will ask her forgiveness, for all of that. And still it will be sweet to see her again. Is she well? Does she seem happy?”
“She is in excellent health, and, if I read things correctly, likely to be the next abbess of the place. I think she is content with her life, and happy enough.”
It pleased him. “I had feared that she would be reproached all her life. It is a dreadful thing for a king’s sister to be known to have slept with the man who killed her brother. Good. I am glad you found her.” He fell silent, beginning to brood over what I had said.
Well content with her life, I thought, looking at him. I remembered her suppressed smile at Gwyn when I had first seen her. Well, she had success after a fashion, she was comfortable, and she plainly loved her son. Her life was less ruined than Gwalchmai’s, I thought. But then, she did not really blame herself for it, and he did. I wondered how Gwalchmai would like Gwyn, and how the boy would take to his father. Very well, no doubt.
Perhaps Elidan would change her mind when she saw Gwalchmai again. She had loved him very passionately once.
Gwalchmai was rubbing his sword hand against his thigh, and I was sure he was reconsidering all that he had done in the light of what I had just told him, and I knew that he would soon conclude, with Elidan, that his actions were unforgivable. God preserve me from a conscience like his. Partly to distract him and partly because I wanted to know, I asked, “How did it come about that you were with Morgawse when Medraut brought me back, my lord? Did you find my message?”
He came back to the present, ready to be courteous. “Your message? Oh, the sword and the brooch. Yes. Here.” He fumbled under the collar of his own cloak and pulled out the same brooch, still a little bent from having the sword pushed through it. I took it, untied the knot I’d used to hold my cloak, and secured the wool with the pin. Much better.
“Did you understand it all, then? Come, my lord, tell me what happened at Degannwy.”
He shrugged, patted Ceincaled’s neck and thought for a moment before he began.
“I was concerned the evening when you first disappeared,” he said at last. “Degannwy is a hard place, and many things could have happened. I asked Rhuawn whether he had seen you, and he was affronted and uneasy. ‘He was insolent to me,’ he said, ‘so I gave him a blow. Probably he has run off because of that.’ And he told me that I should thrash you.” Gwalchmai smiled sadly. “Ach, Rhuawn. He is a good man, brave and honorable and generous, but he is too much of a clansman and too much of a warrior, and it distorts his vision of things. Some other warriors of Maelgwn’s told me that Rhuawn knocked you down in a quarrel, but no one had seen you since. I did not think you would have run off, but there was nothing to do. Yet I mistrusted Rhuawn. Medraut had lied to him and lied to him, and I no longer knew what Rhuawn might be thinking or feeling. Medraut lied to you, too, but I thought I could trust you further…” He noticed my look and added, “Well, but you are not one to plot behind a mask or listen to fine justifications of what is not true. And perhaps, when a warrior is sent on many missions to foreign kings, even if he is honest in himself, he grows able to wear a face not his and suspect all his companions. So I mistrusted Rhuawn. I left the fortress early on the next morning, thinking you might have left the stronghold, and hoping you had left a message. And I found the message. The sword and the brooch were plain enough: Medraut had threatened you; but for a time I did not understand the hawthorn. I sat in that tree and fingered it and wondered what you could mean. And then I remembered the hawthorn flowering at Baddon, and the warcry and the Saxon shield-wall breaking, and I knew that you meant Rhuawn.” He looked at me, and I nodded. He went on. “It darkened the sun for me. I have known Rhuawn very many years, and liked him well since the first day I joined the Family. Mistrust him as I did, I had not thought he would league with Medraut to kill or ensorcel you…”
“He didn’t. I just wanted you to be wary of him.”
“So you say now. But at the time I thought he was plotting against us, with Medraut and my mother. I threw the hawthorn away and trod it into the ground, and rode back to Degannwy at a gallop, taking the brooch and the sword.
“I went to Rhuawn first; he was still in our house. I opened the door quietly and found him sitting on the bed, sharpening a spear. He gave me a greeting, cheerful but a bit forced. I only closed the door and looked at him until he asked what the matter was. Then I showed him the sword and the brooch, and told him how I had found them. He took the sword in his hands, turning it over, looking at the brooch. I said: ‘There was a sprig of hawthorn bound to the sword, which I have taken to mean you. Do you claim to know nothing of this?’ He set it down again, too quickly. ‘I know nothing about it. Where is Medraut?’ ‘I do not know,’ I replied, ‘nor do I care: where is Rhys?’ And then he accused me of not caring for my brother and for my own clan. And I said that my brother plotted against me, and Rhuawn had joined him, betraying Arthur and myself.” He paused, and added, “I must ask his forgiveness for that word. But I was very angry. He became angry as well, but frightened. He said ‘You are mad’; and I did not know what he meant…”
“It’s what Medraut had been suggesting to us,” I said. I had not told him the details of the quarrel. He gave me a sharp look and I added, “Medraut said that the Darkness was all a delusion of yours, born of the same madness that touches you in battle. He made it sound very plausible.”
“So that is it. Rhuawn refused to talk to me. I asked him about the hawthorn again, and he said that the whole message was two-edged nonsense and impossible to interpret, and that anyone might have stolen the brooch and left it. I do not think he believed it, but his honor was at stake because I had accused him of treachery. I finally told him that I would seek out Medraut. He angrily insisted on joining me.
“Medraut did not return until afternoon. I think my mother must have worked to heal his head and then left while it was still night, because she was already at the fortress, and he came back alone. We caught him before he could slink into his house, while he was still leading his horse into its stall in the stables. I gave him the sword, saying, ‘This is yours, I think.’ He took it, stared at it, and I think he was troubled, but then he smiled, trying to be charming. ‘It is indeed,’ he said. ‘I lost it yesterday afternoon. I was looking for it; where did you find it?’ I told him, and he shook his head. ‘But Rhys was not there?’ he asked me. ‘Very strange.’ He looked at Rhuawn and said, ‘Rhys wanted to leave the fortress and had a quarrel with some of Maelgwn’s men at the ga
te, and they followed him to stop him. I heard about it and went after, but the men thought he had been insolent to them and were stubborn and we came to blows. I was hit on the head, and I do not know what happened to Rhys after. Perhaps this was left by one of Maelgwn’s men.’
“Rhuawn heard this tale with attention, and, after a moment’s pause, nodded eagerly. I saw that he would accept it. But I asked Medraut which men of Maelgwn’s had been responsible. He named names without hesitation, but he would not meet my eyes. And I knew that he lied, but that he could have the men he had named ready to join him in the lie within an hour, and that there was nothing I could do to stop him. So I let him keep the sword, and told him that I did not believe his tale, and left him there with Rhuawn. But Degannwy was unsafe for me, and I thought in my heart that I would leave as soon as I was able to without giving insult to Maelgwn.
“However, Agravain arrived from Camlann that night, and…”
“Agravain?” I asked in astonishment.
Gwalchmai nodded, tiredly. “Agravain wanted to come when first my lord Arthur received news from me. He wanted to see our father. Arthur was reluctant to allow him to come, fearing that he would be forced into a position where his loyalties were divided; but eventually my lord yielded, and Agravain rode from Camlann to Degannwy as fast as his horses could take him. He arrived that night. The feast hall was very loud and ugly that night, with Maelgwn’s men and my father’s about to quarrel, and plenty of mead poured out to help them. But when Agravain burst into the hall it was like lighting a lamp in a dark place. Agravain was always popular with Lot’s warband, and everyone murmured as he came up the hall. But my brother paid no attention to anyone but Lot. He walked directly to him, and they embraced the way friends do after a battle, when each has thought the other dead and devoured by wolves. But Lot and Agravain were always close: their wills held the same rhythm and they delighted in the same joys. When Arthur demanded Agravain as a hostage for my father’s peace, it was a heavy grief to Lot, a thing that stole the color from the earth.” Gwalchmai hesitated, then went on, “My father always intended Agravain to be king of the Islands after him, and the royal clan and the warband had always favored him, he was so plainly what a warrior should be. Now…I do not know. But after embracing our father he turned to me, and then greeted all the men in the warband with great delight. My father had him sit on his own right and called for a harper. It was very good to see my father so. He became more what he used to be. He began by asking Agravain about Arthur, and then about all our battles; and then they talked war and hunting and laughed together. But Medraut left shortly after Agravain arrived. He bowed to Lot, and said that his head ached from its pounding, and that he must lie down. I did not like the fact that he left, and I was sure he went to tell Morgawse that Agravain had come, if she didn’t know already—but, on the other hand, it seemed likely that his head did ache, and I had no desire to leave the feast hall myself.
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