One man with a gash on the side of his head lay face down in the wreckage of a table. It looked as if he’d been thrown on top of it.
Myrddin went to him and turned him so that he could see his face—and if he was alive. “Gareth!”
Gareth moaned and tried to sit up. “He’s gone. He’s gone.” The young lord was too handsome for his own good, which the new scars he would have on his right temple and on his chin would do nothing to diminish.
“How long ago?”
“I don’t know.”
Myrddin looked over at Geraint, who stood in the entrance to the tent, his face drawn and white. “Several remain alive outside, but only one can walk—he was just stunned like Gareth. I sent him for help tending to the wounded, though with the caution not to raise a general alarm until we know what we’re dealing with.”
“Good,” Myrddin said. “When exactly did you leave the king’s presence?”
“As I said earlier, it must have been nearly an hour ago,” Geraint said. “All was well then. I swear it!”
That Geraint would feel he had to justify his behavior to Myrddin revealed the true extent of his guilt at what had been done and left undone. For his part, Myrddin chastised himself for kneeling in the snow on the battlefield as long as he had, lamenting the delay it caused, and he told himself that the next time he had a vision, he wouldn’t question it nor allow anyone else to do so either.
He turned back to Gareth. “Who was it?”
“Modred’s lackey, Beorhtsige.” Gareth was crawling on his knees now and conscious enough not only to be articulate, but mocking as well. “There were more than a dozen of them and, once the arrows stopped flying, only a few of us remained to defend the king. I tried, but even I can’t fight off that many men at once.”
Not long ago, Myrddin might have questioned Gareth’s loyalty, but in recent weeks he’d proved himself a true son of Eryri—enough so that Myrddin merely held out a hand as Geraint had done to him earlier and helped Gareth to his feet.
He swayed at first, but then he steadied himself. “I’m not badly injured. I fear for the king, however, who could even now be dead.”
“No,” Myrddin said. “I saw him alive. That was what brought us here in haste.”
Gareth put a hand to his head. “It doesn’t make sense that they’d keep him alive. Only last night they had orders to kill him.”
Geraint let out burst of air. “I am as much at a loss in this as you.”
Myrddin stood looking between the two of them. “I can’t say what was in the minds of these Saxons, and I won’t pretend that the king’s abduction isn’t a disaster, but take comfort in my vision, for it seems it was a true seeing. King Arthur is a captive, not a casualty, and if he isn’t with Nell, he soon will be.”
Myrddin felt a surge of anger at the thought that the Saxons might hurt his wife, but her presence in the vision meant she was alive too.
All was not yet lost.
Chapter Two
12 December 537
Nell
Nell and Huw faced off in the darkness of the stable. Where they were standing and what they were talking about reminded Nell of another scene, but one which contained Myrddin instead of his son. Unfortunately, Huw was taking the same position that Myrddin had taken at that time, to his detriment and hers.
“You’re a nun, Mother.” Huw’s blond hair stuck up on end where he’d run his hand through it in frustration and in a manner that reminded her very much of his father. But even the reference to her new relationship to Huw wasn’t going to make her give way. Huw knew everything now about Nell’s and Myrddin’s long quest to save King Arthur. She’d even told him about her intention, before she’d been rescued by Myrddin, to enter Rhuddlan Castle and kill Modred. Unfortunately, knowing the truth about his parents had only made him more protective of her, not less.
“One—” Nell gestured to the plain gown she wore rather than the habit she’d traveled to the manor house in, “—I’m married to your father, so I’m clearly not a nun. And two, going our separate ways is not the answer. I know you want to discover if your father survived the battle at the church. I do too, but you can’t leave me here.”
“Edgar will protect—”
“Edgar is a Saxon lord who doesn’t yet know his loyalties and seems determined to give Modred his head on a platter!”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Nell. I have no wish to die.” Edgar’s dry tone came out of the darkness, and Nell swung around to look in the direction of his voice.
Nell glared at him. “That may be, but you’re doing an excellent job of behaving as if you do. If you go to Modred, if you tell him that you have lost faith in his leadership, he is going to skewer you on a long poker, and you know it.”
Edgar licked his lips, which were chapped, a reminder of his days spent in captivity. He’d cleaned himself up otherwise, and once again wore the fine tunic and cloak of the nobleman he was. Even his black leather boots were newly polished. “As I told your husband, I have an obligation to my line.”
“Your obligation to your line is to father a son to carry on after you,” Nell said tartly and completely without embarrassment in mentioning the delicate topic, “and not to die before you have that opportunity.”
Edgar pressed his lips together. “Modred will not murder me.”
Nell tsked under her breath at Edgar’s innocence. “You can’t assume that.”
“He won’t murder me, because I am not going to tell him that I’ve changed my allegiance. Agravaine suspected me of treachery, but all Modred knows is that I wrote that letter to Arthur in order to lure him into a trap. Nothing more.”
Nell studied him assessingly, comparing these words with those he’d spoken before on the road from Buellt. “You would spy for Arthur?”
“You’re thinking that after all my talk of honor, I’ve just thrown it away.”
“No! By the saints, no! It is exactly what you should do, but I would never have dared suggest it because I didn’t think you’d do it.”
Edgar cleared his throat. “Things have changed. I have just received word from Buellt that the trap laid by Agravaine was successful only in that it lured Prince Cai, not King Arthur, into it. At Agravaine’s orders, Cai was killed and his head removed from his body. What’s more, the Welsh forces attacked Buellt with the dawn and have taken the castle.”
Huw punched the air and shouted inarticulately, but the news had Nell wavering on her feet. “Are you sure—”
She had assured Myrddin that he had nothing to fear, that King Arthur hadn’t gone to the meeting at the church. She’d held that belief tightly to her heart, even as she’d had to ride away from him, and then through the long hours as they waited for word of what had befallen the king. She hadn’t dared ask Edgar sooner if he’d heard anything, in part because she hadn’t wanted to know. She hadn’t wanted her golden dream shattered. And now—she couldn’t take in the news that she and Myrddin had won.
Unaware of Nell’s trembling, Huw scooped her up in a hug and danced around the stable with her. “You did it, Mother! You did it!” Nell managed a laugh and allowed him to turn her in a pirouette before coming back to face Edgar.
He’d waited patiently through their celebration, a small smile on his lips. “The news comes from one of my own scouts. He reports that few Saxons were able to get away. Agravaine’s army—what’s left of it—is vanquished. The scout feared for his own safety, afraid that he would be mistaken for one of the combatants, so he didn’t stay to learn more.”
Huw still had an arm around Nell’s waist, and now she found that she needed him to hold her up. He put his lips to her ear. “Father survived too. You know he did.”
Nell put a hand to her chest and took in a breath. She nodded at Huw, emotion overwhelming her, and her joy turning to relief as tears streamed down her cheeks. She reached for one of the low stools upon which the stable boys rested between tasks and sat for a moment with her head in her hands.
&nb
sp; But then she looked up, wiping at her cheeks with the back of her hands. “So what is it about Cai’s death and the loss of Buellt that made you change your mind? Yesterday, you were riding to Modred to tell him to his face that you were changing your allegiance.”
“I want to know that too.” Huw’s brow furrowed. “If King Arthur had died last night, you never would have had to say anything at all to Modred about your allegiance. With Agravaine dead as well, you’re the last man standing.”
Edgar barked a laugh. “What changed? That King Arthur lives is what changed. That Agravaine failed means the war will continue. Last night, I didn’t believe King Arthur would be saved, so I said what I said to make sure that you and Huw survived the onslaught that I was sure was coming from Agravaine’s army. If King Arthur had died, Modred would have mercilessly hunted down and executed every one of his captains, Myrddin among them. Modred could not have allowed even a single one to live, for fear that he would rally the people to him and renew the fight.”
Nell stared at the Saxon lord and shook her head in disbelief. “You lied.”
A corner of Edgar’s mouth twitched. “I did have a manor five miles to the north of Buellt, and by bringing you here, I kept my promise to your husband, which I believed to be the greater good. It seemed to me that you and Huw would be safe here as long as you needed shelter.” Edgar took in a breath. “But that was last night. You are no longer safe here, not if I am to return to Modred’s side and spy for Arthur.”
Nell bit her lip, thinking back through all the interactions she’d ever had with Edgar. Now that she thought about it, riding to tell Modred to his face that he was betraying him was not in keeping with Edgar’s character. Like Cedric, and all the Saxon lords who served Modred, he’d had to be pragmatic all his life. No man who ruled lands on the border between England and Wales and was caught between two powerful overlords could afford to put an ideal above the practical matter of caring for his people. In fact, now that she thought about it, lying to save her and Huw was exactly like Edgar.
Huw nodded. “We should go. I might not agree with your methods, but I can honor your choice.” He looked at Nell. “My mother and I have no possessions other than what is in our saddle bags, so there is no barrier to leaving immediately.
“I believe to do so would be wise,” Edgar said.
“If anyone questions where we’ve gone or asks why we rode here with you, you can say that we were innocents who you took from Buellt,” Nell said. “Which, in a way, we were.”
“My men already believe that, and if anyone wonders where you’ve gone, they’ll soon be too busy for you to be more than a passing thought.”
“If the news from Buellt is accurate, we should have no trouble finding our lines.” Huw put out a hand to Nell to help her to her feet.
“You should know, also,” Edgar said, “that whatever Agravaine’s men did to Cai, it was on Agravaine’s orders. Modred never wanted King Arthur dead.”
“How can you say that?” Nell said. “Killing King Arthur at the church was always the plan.”
Edgar’s eyes narrowed, perhaps at Nell’s use of the word always, and she hastily backtracked so that she wouldn’t have to tell him about her and Myrddin’s visions. “I mean, they wouldn’t have killed Cai in Arthur’s stead if they hadn’t been ordered to.”
“Yes—but those orders came from Agravaine, and my refusal to be a party to Arthur’s death was part of the reason he imprisoned me at Buellt. Modred wanted—and still wants—the king captured and in his hands. He still intends to convince Arthur to name him as his heir.”
Huw frowned and took a step toward the Saxon lord. “King Arthur said he wouldn’t.”
“Modred believes, not perhaps without justification, that a few days in captivity might change his mind,” Edgar said.
Huw scoffed. “King Arthur wouldn’t bend to torture.”
“You misunderstand. Modred has no intention of harming the king physically. But tell me this: if Modred told Arthur that he would lay waste to one Welsh village for every day that Arthur refused to name Modred as his heir, what would the king do? If Modred threatened to kill in cold blood twenty of Arthur’s citizens for every hour the king delayed would not the king bow eventually to Modred’s demands?”
Huw gaped at Edgar. “He wouldn’t—”
Nell put a hand to her mouth. Unlike Huw, who couldn’t imagine such evil, Nell had already seen what Modred—and his men—could do. They’d raped and murdered all the women in her convent. What was another village compared to that?
“Edgar is right, Huw.” Nell put a hand on her new son’s arm. “And Modred is right. King Arthur could withstand his own pain and death, but he would rather take his own life than allow Modred to murder innocents—perhaps hundreds of innocents—if he knew that by giving way he could stop it.
“At one time, King Arthur would have believed—and been right to believe—that the greater good was served by holding fast, no matter how many Modred murdered. I don’t think he believes that anymore—not because he has grown weak, but because he has lived every day of his life at war, and he no longer believes that his throne is worth more than the life of even one child, who might die to keep him on it. By threatening King Arthur thus, and following through with his threats, as Modred always does, Modred would force King Arthur’s hand.”
“But think of all who will lose their lives if King Arthur names Modred as his heir!” Huw said. “Knowledge of that future is what has kept you fighting all this time. Men died today to take Buellt from Modred out of the knowledge that they would rather die than surrender their country to him.”
“I don’t deny what you’re saying,” Nell said. “But for children to die now to avoid future deaths that might not come to pass is a bargain King Arthur might not be willing to make—especially because he has no heir, and he can’t live more than another few years, whether or not he defeats Modred. He’s old now, Huw. And nobody can predict the future.”
Huw put his face right in Nell’s. “You can! Father can!”
“Can you really?” Edgar had been listening to her exchange with Huw with evident interest. “See the future, I mean.”
Not in this,” Nell said shortly, ignoring Edgar’s incredulous look. “When we reach our lines, I will tell the king what you said and what you have offered. I will impress upon him the importance of staying out of Modred’s hands above all else.”
Nodding, Edgar reached for the bridle of Nell’s horse and began to lead it towards the entrance to the stable. “Up until now, King Arthur has led his army himself because he knows that his men need to see his strength, but it makes him vulnerable. For some time, the capture of King Arthur has been Modred’s single-minded goal. That was why he looked upon my letter to Arthur with favor. I was to lure him into a trap to capture, not kill.”
A cheer went up from the men in the courtyard beyond the doorway, and a look of concern crossed Edgar’s face. He made a clicking sound to get Nell’s horse moving out of the stable, and Nell and Huw followed, with Huw leading his own horse.
Though it was early afternoon, because it was winter and each day gave them only eight hours of daylight, the sun had never risen to a point directly above them and was well down in the sky now. When Nell entered the courtyard, however, the space was lit up like a summer’s day by the arrival of a host of men holding torches, each one with a smile a mile wide on his face.
Their leader, dressed in mail and sporting Modred’s colors, dismounted. Edgar, tossing the leading reins of Nell’s horse to Huw, strode towards the Saxon newcomer. “Beorhtsige. I’m glad to see you alive.”
Most Welshmen complained that Saxon names were incomprehensible, but Nell and Huw had lived among the Saxons for many years, and the harsh tones of the names didn’t bother them.
“No thanks to you,” Beorhtsige said.
Huw leaned in to whisper in Nell’s ear. “That’s one of Modred’s captains. I didn’t see him last night at Buellt.”
&nb
sp; Nell nodded, though her eyes didn’t leave the scene before her. Beorhtsige was taller than Edgar, with broad shoulders and a thick neck, as befitted a warrior. Edgar’s problem had always been that he was slightly built and had been destined for scholarship—before his elder brother had died and left him heir to their father’s lands.
Edgar was dressed like the nobleman he was, however, and he emanated a quiet strength. He’d certainly had no trouble dispatching the guard in the tower at Buellt. That same confidence had him straightening his shoulders and lying through his teeth to Beorhtsige. “Lord Modred shall hear of your impertinence, Beorhtsige! He gave me a mission that he did not share with Agravaine, and he would have punished Agravaine for thwarting me. I had no choice but to escape if I was to serve our master.”
Beorhtsige gave a stutter that might have been the beginnings of an apology. In a few heartbeats, Edgar had reduced Beorhtsige to a supplicant.
“Fortunately for Agravaine, he was spared that fate, since he is dead,” Edgar concluded.
Beorhtsige stared at Edgar. “What? Agravaine is dead?”
Edgar’s brow furrowed. “Last night King Arthur sent a spy into Buellt who killed Agravaine in the hall. You didn’t know?”
“No! How could I? Modred sent me—”
Edgar overrode him. “And then, while Agravaine was dying an ignominious death, your men murdered King Arthur’s brother, Cai, who was a spy for him in Arthur’s court. Modred will be none too pleased about that!”
A flash of annoyance crossed Beorhtsige’s face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Edgar laughed mockingly. “And if the man at the church had, in fact, been King Arthur, your men would have murdered him too, and then where would we all be? Modred wanted the king captured, not dead! I look forward to being present when you tell our lord what you’ve done.”
A Long Cloud (The Lion of Wales Book 4) Page 2
