by Sarah Zettel
The king raised him up courteously.
“What is your name?” Arthur asked in the Northern tongue. The man started a little before answering.
“Ros, my liege.” He had a rough, mumbling voice, weighed down by awkwardness.
“Who sent you? Was it King Lot?”
“No, my liege,” Ros shook his head heavily, his thick fingers knotting together in front of him. “It was my lord Pedair.”
“He is with the king?”
“Yes, Sire.” Ros’s gaze slipped sideways to Agravain. “One of the last.”
“With your permission, Your Majesty?” said Agravain. The king nodded and Agravain faced Ros. “Who else still stands with King Lot?”
“Lord Ruadh mach Keill. No one else who can in truth be called a chieftain.”
Which means there are others there who take the title without the right. God in Heaven. When Agravain had left, a full twenty chiefs had still called Lot king. “How stands Din Eityn?”
“That’s why I am sent, my lord. There is an army come from the south.”
The words drove straight to the centre of Agravain’s soul.
“What army?” he barked, not even pausing to see how the king took this sudden news. “Who are they? How close are they to the rock?”
“When I left, they were not more than six days’ march, west and north, in the vale of Saint Isen’s well. Some five hundred men. They travel under a raven banner.”
At the mention of the raven, all the men in the room went very still. There was only one person who flew such a sigil, and that was Morgaine, called the Goddess and the Sleepless.
Called enemy to King Arthur and Queen Guinevere and all who stood with them.
Agravain folded his arms over his chest, in part to keep his hands from clenching into fists. “Moving how?”
Ros shook his head again and his fingers twisted and tightened, looking for something to hold onto. “Not moving. Waiting. At parley, it’s thought, with the Pict and the Dal Riata.”
So. It’s come. It’s come at last.
Although he was sure he already knew the answer, Agravain asked the next question. “And no one has moved against it?”
“No, my lord.” Ros’s voice changed tone subtly, becoming not angry, but harder. Sour, as if he’d spit if he were not in such company. “Our neighbors are all waiting to see which way the wind blows, Lord Pedair thinks.”
“Does a lady wait with the army?” asked King Arthur abruptly.
This took Ros aback. “A lady, Sire?” Perhaps he had not heard the stories, although Agravain doubted that. More likely he had been so intent on delivering his news, he had not had the opportunity to think on what it might mean.
“Yes. She will have black hair and black eyes.”
Ros considered, searching his memory as well as the faces of the men around him. All stayed quiet, giving no hint as to the answer they wanted. “No one has seen such lady. No one I’ve spoken to. The raven army is led by a man in black, though.”
“What man is this?”
Ros shrugged, seemingly abashed. “He rides a black horse and wears armour all enamelled in black as they do in the eastern parts of the world. He is a shadow at midday, and they say he commands the earth underfoot and the skies overhead. I don’t believe it myself, but I’ve seen him …” Ros faltered. “Well … I’ve seen him.”
Agravain gritted his teeth briefly. “What force is there left to Din Eityn?”
Ros licked his lips. He ducked his head for a moment, then seemed to remember some pride of place, and straightened. “None, my lord,” he said and his voice was steady. Flinching from this truth would be useless. “We’re a hollow shell. We’ll crack as soon as the hammer falls.”
The king nodded, tugging at his beard and contemplating the fire again. “Thank you, Ros. Get some rest. We may send for you tomorrow to repeat what you have told us before the full council.”
Ros knelt again, and took himself out of there, not without a backward glance at Agravain and Gawain. Agravain barely spared him a thought. All his attention turned towards the king. His frame thrummed with tension. Arthur must order him home. Now. At once.
Sir Kai shuffled past them and did what few were allowed. Without waiting for the king’s permission, he sat, pulling his lame leg towards the fire.
“Forgive me,” he said. “It has been a long night for these misshapen limbs of mine. What counselcil then, my king?” He looked up expectantly at Arthur.
Agravain at first thought this was mere flippancy, but he watched how Kai’s words made the king recall himself from across the distance his thoughts had travelled. It was no good road, but when Arthur spoke, his voice still held his familiar strength.
“So. The Dal Riata and the Pict are negotiating an alliance. If there were time, I’d lay another curse against Vortigern for inviting those men of Eire to our lands.”
History. History of battles that had left blood across the land and stained men’s minds with hate. That hate moved them down the generations.
“We cannot believe that this new alliance, and these five hundred men from the south, will not be turned against us.” Not with the raven flying over them. But Arthur did not say that. “And given the timing, we must believe its road south will lie straight through Gododdin,” he went on. “Din Eityn and control of the firth are treasure enough to tempt any commander with a brain in his head.”
Arthur lifted his head and Agravain drew himself up, ready for the order. Requiring the order.
“What I ask now, Agravain,” said King Arthur. “Is that you do not go to Din Eityn.”
The words fell like blows against Agravain, wholly unlooked for and shattering all thought.
“What!” Agravain shouted before he remembered himself. “My king, what …”
“We should not wait for the Dal Riata to make their move,” Arthur went on steadily, as if Agravain had not spoken. “A force may still be assembled and moved in time to meet the enemy before winter. The forts on the northern wall are still sound. You, Agravain will ride out with me and we will end this alliance of our enemies.”
Agravain looked to Kai, who only shrugged one crooked shoulder, and to Gawain who stood silent and unsurprised. His brother did at least seem to recognize this was perhaps an awkward situation, and shifted his weight.
“If you go north without invitation, my king, it will be thought you go to conquer,” Agravain said, forcing reason back into his tone. “It will infuriate the chiefs and lords there, and call into question the open friendship you have offered.”
“It cannot be helped,” replied King Arthur. “This alliance and its architects must be broken.”
“You do not believe I can lead the army which breaks it?” inquired Agravain. It cannot be you do not trust me. It cannot be, my king, you doubt my ability or my loyalty.
Arthur faced Agravain fully, and Agravain found himself assessing the king almost as he would an opponent before battle. Arthur was old, but still straight, still strong of arm and body. He met Agravain’s eyes with the certainty that must belong to a king.
“I believe I do not want you to go alone to the place where your father was driven mad by Morgan the Fey,” said Arthur. “It would be too dangerous to us should the same fate befall you, Agravain.”
Morgaine. There it was. The name no one in the whole of Camelot dared to speak aloud. The name of the one who was nemesis to King Arthur and Queen Guinevere both.
The name of his mother Morgause’s twin sister.
“We cannot leave Din Eityn kingless,” said Agravain doggedly. “It commands both the old Roman walls.”
“Which mean far less than they used to with all the quarrels that have sprung up between them, unmediated,” said Gawain slowly. “Let the dogs fight over the bone a little, while the true threat is dealt with.”
Agravain stared at his brother. Gawain could not really be thinking this way. It was Gododdin he spoke of. It was their place, their land and their people. It wa
s the place that made them princes, and the place that they had been robbed of, and where their father was prisoner. He could not seriously be considering waiting one more day to take it back.
But as he stared at his brother, Agravain saw Gawain was not thinking like a man of Gododdin. He was thinking like the one who must be the next High King. As Arthur’s heir, Gawain must consider all the lands and peoples that had entered into the Pax Arturus. Gododdin was but one piece in that puzzle.
Would you sacrifice our north to save your south, Gawain? It was not a question he had permitted himself to ask before, and in that he had clearly been foolish. When Gawain had left Gododdin, he had left the whole of it behind. He was fully a man of Camelot now, and would not be anything else.
It occurred to Agravain then that Gawain and Arthur might have spoken on this very subject.
Spoken on it, and not told me.
He felt anger take hold. Its grip enfolded his reason, cold and unyielding. He looked at his brother and his king, and saw how their plans hid behind their calm eyes. What was his kingdom to them? What care had they for the men of Gododdin? Leave them to the wolves, and while the wolves worry their bones we stay safe.
“There is another way.”
Kai spoke the words judiciously, craning his neck to look up at the men who stood around him. The gleam in his eye pierced Agravain’s deepening anger like the light of hope.
“What is that?” asked Arthur.
“If Your Majesty is already mindful to strike first, do not go to the north. Strike in the west.”
Arthur stared at his foster brother. In return, Kai smiled, the sly, crooked smile that so many in the court knew and mistrusted. “The cat’s away, my king. Why should we not take her mice to play with?” His eyes sparked with mischief, but his words were sound. How long have you contemplated them, Sir Kai? ‘If this is her army, it came from somewhere. Wherever that is, she has left those places only lightly defended.”
Agravain stared stupidly at his uncle. Why did I not think of this? We were all of us so blinded by fear of her.
Kai sat further back in his chair, rubbing his chin with his long hand. “Gareth is in the west. So is Geraint. Send them word. Our nephews can send men to their neighbour countries more quickly than we could move a southern army to the north.”
The High King blinked, like a man rising from a heavy sleep. “Could it be done?” he whispered. “Has she bared her heart at last?”
Agravain seized the opening. “It may be so. Geraint and Gareth can tell us for certain. They can find where the men have moved from. We can determine which lands have given her their alliance and attack there.”
He could not see the king’s eyes for the shadows that puddled in them, and Agravain found he was glad. He did not want to see Arthur’s fear. Each time Morgaine’s name was uttered that fear was there, and it changed the king, wearing him down like any heavy burden must at last wear down the strongest man.
The king shook his head, wagging it slowly back and forth, uncertain what to believe. Agravain felt a different cold overtake him. Fear trickled into his veins. It was not like Arthur to display uncertainty in a matter of war. But talk of attacking Morgaine who had plagued them all like a demon for so many years made him hesitate. How could this be?
What has she done to you? Has she already taken you? The thought constricted Agravain’s heart. If Morgaine had sunk her invisible knife into Arthur, they were all lost.
No. Merlin protects him. But Merlin was not there and Agravain looked again at the king’s eyes, so distant and so suddenly old. The cold within him deepened.
“She may still be in the West Lands,” said the king uneasily. “Her reach is long. That she leads in the north does not mean she is there. It may be a trap.”
‘Let her be in the west,” Agravain said flatly. “She has left herself without her usual guard, and will come the more easily to the sword.”
The doubt did not leave the king’s countenance. He fell back to studying the fire again, watching for omens and answers in the bright flames. Agravain cast a glance at Gawain. Will you strike this blow if the king cannot? Agravain asked his brother silently. Gawain’s face was hard and grim. With a brother’s sympathy, Agravain felt the heat stirring in Gawain’s blood. Oh, yes. This much he could trust Gawain to do.
“Let me go to Din Eityn, Sire,” said Agravain. “Let me go at once.”
“Not alone.”
Agravain’s focus was so intent on King Arthur, it took him a moment to realize it was Gawain who had spoken. He turned to his brother, the cold of anger descending over him once more. “This is mine to do.”
Gawain stood solidly, but the fingers of his right hand rubbed together. Itching for action. So, he did remember this was their home, and how it was taken from them, and by whom. He did want to strike a man’s blow in that place. “This is not a quarrel between us, Agravain. The security of all our lands is in jeopardy.”
“Nothing could be worse than sending the High King’s heir up at the head of a southern army. It will be the excuse Morgaine needs to bring those gore crows on our borders to her side. Think, Gawain!” he ordered, for all the good it would do. “Do we want her to be able to stand up and shout that all Arthur seeks is conquest?”
He made no apology for these words, nor sought to soften them. They must speak plainly here. The time for obfuscation and hesitation was done. And if you are going to be the southern king, my brother, you cannot also be the northern. You must accept that.
“Five hundred men,” Agravain said slowly, clearly. “If she can take Din Eityn, she will be able to stand any siege we can mount next spring.”
Pain flickered behind the king’s eyes. “We thought we were encroaching on her domains from the east, and she was already embracing the north. Too slow, again,” he breathed hoarsely. “Too late, again.”
“Not this time,” said Agravain. “We know her object. She can be stopped, and she will be.”
Arthur rubbed his eyes. His old, tired eyes. “I will think on this. We will hold further council in the morning.”
“Sire …” began Agravain.
But Sir Kai got ponderously to his feet. “Go, you two. I will keep the king’s company for a little while yet.” More softly he added, “Go back to your wife, Agravain.”
And that was the end of it. Agravain and Gawain bowed, and walked into the corridor, and the door shut behind them, leaving them in the dim and flickering torchlight. Agravain glowered at the blank wood.
What is the matter with you, my king? he demanded silently. Where is your heart?
There was no answer here. There was no answer anywhere. Agravain turned on his heel, and strode down the corridor. He had no destination in mind. He just needed to be away from there. Away from the voices of men which he could no longer understand, out from the closeness of the walls.
He needed to be home, but home was days and years away.
“Agravain, do we know it is her?” asked Gawain softly.
Agravain rounded on his brother, glad to have a vent for the frustration pressing hard against his heart and thoughts. “Are you calling me a liar?”
Gawain did not flinch. “You have often complained that King Arthur does not keep the northern borders well enough. If you thought it would spur him to greater action, you might speak of suspicion as certainty.”
Agravain felt his mouth tighten into a hard line. “If I wished to spur the High King on, Morgaine is the last name I would invoke.”
“That is unworthy.”
Agravain’s brows arched. “Is it?”
“You know that it is.”
Perhaps, but it is true all the same. Agravain folded his arms, blowing out a sigh. He could not stay here bantering with Gawain. There was something else that needed to be done at once. “Is there anything else you have to say to me, Gawain?”
“Much, but very little you’d hold still for.” Now Gawain sighed, and he ran his hand through his hair. He also was tired. Dark c
ircles showed under his eyes. Was his brother beginning to age as the king had aged? “Look carefully to your own need for revenge, Agravain. It will lead you down the false path she lays.”
“You counsel me thus?” Agravain held his ground. He would give Gawain no excuse to accuse him of running away.
“Yes, brother.” Gawain nodded, absolutely sober. “I do, and I have cause to know.”
Agravain felt the corner of his mouth twitch. “I will bear your words in mind. Now, I ask your pardon. I have other business I must attend to.”
“God be with you, Agravain.”
Agravain did not answer him. There was no answer that needed giving. All that he required now was that Gawain not follow him.
The corridors here were empty, and he could make out no sound of celebration as he passed the main hall. Good. He had no desire to meet up with any of the court now.
Go back to your wife, Kai had counselled him. Perhaps he should. When he had laid these plans, there had been no wife in them. Laurel was not something he had even imagined.
No. If I delay in this matter, I may never find the heart, or the time, to pursue it.
The coldest part of the night had settled in. The damp wind smelled heavily of more rain to come. Agravain’s skin prickled beneath his woollen tunic and he wished briefly he had thought to get his cloak. But there was no time to waste on minor discomfort. This needed to be done before the whole hall roused itself, before rumour had the full and open light of day to play in. One last secret to be acquired while there was still time. He did not delude himself. His was an audacious request, and he might be refused. If he was successful, he would need time to add what he learned to his current plans.
The plans the king might yet destroy. Agravain’s fist clenched and he strode across the quiet yard.
Near the southern wall of Camelot’s great keep waited one humble edifice set apart from the others. It was a thatched cottage, its wattle and daub walls washed over with lime. But rather than belonging to a herdsman or kitchen woman, it was the chosen dwelling of the king’s chief advisor.
