It took so little time for Edgar to gather his men that Nell wondered if he’d been prepared for something like this to happen. Or perhaps it was just that, ruling border lands as he did, his men were always ready to leave at a moment’s notice. Either way, within the quarter of an hour Beorhtsige promised, they were ready to go.
They formed up outside the gate of Edgar’s manor, and Nell and Huw, now mounted on their own horses, were crowded off to one side of the path—though they were still buttressed by Edgar’s soldiers so they couldn’t escape. They’d been positioned many paces behind King Arthur, who was secured amongst Beorhtsige’s men.
Edgar, however, was to ride at the head of the company beside the Saxon captain. Huw kept a fixed glare on him, and finally he leaned in to her and spoke in Welsh. “How could everything he spoke of back in the stable have been a lie? How could any man lose himself to such an extent that he becomes so capable of so profound a deception?”
Nell raised one shoulder and let it drop. “I read truth in his eyes from the moment I entered his prison back at Buellt. I still see it, but now I don’t know what truth he is conveying. He said he would spy for Arthur in Modred’s camp. What better way to ingratiate himself with Modred—and to convince Beorhtsige of his allegiance—than to bring us with him? What better way to ensure Arthur’s survival than to ride to Wroxeter at Beorhtsige’s side?”
“Or,” Huw said, “he truly intends to give us to Modred and never had any intention of serving King Arthur.”
Nell’s hands still weren’t tied, and she made a helpless gesture with one of them. “And yet I still say, how convincing is his disguise if we, his allies, can’t even tell his true intentions?”
“You may no longer be a nun, Mother, but you still want to see the best in people.” Huw paused and shook his head. “We have to find a way to let Father know where we’ve gone.”
“I’ve already thought of something, though it isn’t much, and he would have to come here to find it.” Nell motioned with her head that Huw should look at the ground. Beneath Nell, a single red drop had fallen onto the snow.
Huw was horrified. “You’re bleeding!”
“No.” Nell leaned in close to whisper to him. “The man who helped me mount my horse allowed me to remove the wineskin from my saddlebag so that I might drink from it as I wished.” Nell put her hand briefly on the wineskin, which was slung around her waist by its strap. As the horse shifted, another drop fell to the snow. “I pricked it with the pin from my sewing kit.”
Huw laughed under his breath. “I should have thought of that.”
Nell smiled, and she was amazed that even under these conditions, she could feel a little warmth of humor. “You don’t have a sewing kit.”
As the miles rolled away beneath them, the wineskin slowly emptied, and the night passed. Nell’s anticipation of rescue drained away too, leaving her in a haze of exhaustion and despair. Beorhtsige allowed them short rests every two hours, for a quarter of an hour only, but even that wasn’t enough, and once on the ground, Nell could barely put one foot in front of the other.
At their third stop, somewhere in the vicinity of midnight, Nell could tell they’d reached England because the terrain was flatter. The Welsh mountains and valleys had given way to the rolling hills, fields, and fences of Powys and the March that bore little resemblance to her homeland. She threw herself down on the ground and pillowed her head in her elbow, desperate to be horizontal and to close her eyes for at least a few moments.
“Mother.” Huw knelt beside her to place a blanket over her.
She stirred. “If you don’t sleep, you’ll be no good to me or the king.”
“Do I hear Father in your voice?” Huw actually managed a laugh.
“You should.”
“I slept in the saddle,” Huw said. “I’ll keep watch until Beorhtsige orders us to ride on again.”
Nell closed her eyes—and instantly she was swept into a dream.
Bong. Bong. Bong. A church bell tolled long and low. Instinctively Nell looked up and saw the tower looming above her head. She was standing on the steps of a stone church, which had been built of great marble blocks the likes of which she’d rarely seen, and then only in the ruins of the long-abandoned Roman forts that were strewn across the landscape in Wales. Caerhun was full of similar abandoned blocks that were so big it made more sense to leave them as they lay and build in wood than use them for anything more than the base of a wall.
Slowly and without urgency, her surroundings beyond the church came into focus. She turned her head and was surprised and happy to see Myrddin, his breath freezing in the cold air before him, standing beside her. Except he held a sword bare in his hand, and blood dripped from the tip. She tried to talk to him, but as in every dream before this one, he was completely unaware of her presence.
And then another bell sounded, this one in a tone that was higher and more urgent. Nell knew without Myrddin’s shout that the sound was a warning call and might as well have been accompanied by cries of Awake! Awake! To arms! To Arms!
The moon came out from behind a cloud, illuminating the area around the church and revealing the faceless forms of a dozen Saxon soldiers. With another shout, Myrddin threw himself into their midst—not to fight them, but in order to take his place among them. They were his companions.
She wanted to fight beside Myrddin too, though she had no weapon, and as she pressed forward as Myrddin had done, her vision expanded to include Myrddin’s opponents, who were also Saxon, one of whom was aiming a blow at Myrddin’s head …
“Myrddin!” Nell woke with a gasp.
Huw stood a few paces away, keeping watch as he promised, but at her cry he hastened towards her and crouched at her side. “What is it, Mother? You said you were going to try to sleep.”
“I did—I did sleep, didn’t I?”
“For ten heartbeats, maybe,” Huw said.
Nell bent her head with a sigh. She could never tell while she was in a dream how long it lasted. Some took up the whole of the night, and in others, a lifetime could pass in the dream in the time it took for the man who guarded them to pace to the nearest tree and back. That seemed to be the case tonight. But even with hardly closing her eyes, Nell wasn’t tired anymore. She wrapped the blanket around herself and stood.
“I just saw Myrddin, Huw. I was with him as he was fighting with Saxons against Saxons.”
“Does that mean he’s tracking us?”
“It means he’s alive, which is all I can hope for just now.” Nell took in a breath and let it out. “I am afraid both that Myrddin will come for us and that he won’t. We are his weakness, you know. All these years, he never allowed himself to grow close to anyone because he feared he would fail in his mission if he did. With us in his life, he succeeded in saving Arthur only to find that he’s more vulnerable than ever.”
“Love is not a weakness, Mother. Father worked so hard to save King Arthur because he loved him. Without that love, he would never have despaired at his failure. He would never have rescued you.”
Nell put her face into her hands, struggling for composure. “You’re not wrong, but I fear that Edgar has latched upon the one thing that will prevent Myrddin from saving the king, and that’s his need to save us.”
“Your visions don’t always come true, Mother,” Huw said. “We know that now. They show one possible future, and they show you that future so you can prevent it. Don’t lose hope.”
She clenched her hands into fists, struggling to find the strength to keep believing. She was losing hope, and it was wrong of her to do so after they’d come so far. “I can only pray that you’re right.”
Chapter Five
12 December 537
Myrddin
As Gareth had formulated his initial plan, all he’d been thinking about was secrecy and speed. Now, however, they rode in a company of fifteen, thirteen of them Saxons, which gave them the ability not only to take the high road, but to ride openly along it.
As Myrddin had suspected, the Saxons who’d taken King Arthur were easy to track, because of the snow and the fact that they were riding hard so as to enter England before they were caught. The only drawback now was that the sun was going down, and if King Arthur’s captors turned off the trail or found shelter for the night somewhere along the way it would be easy to miss them in the dark.
Myrddin’s vision had shown him King Arthur with his hands bound, but it hadn’t given him any guidance as to where he and Nell had come into contact. Best case, it was at Edgar’s manor, because Beorhtsige had sought shelter there—the worst, it was in Wroxeter, in which case Myrddin would have words with Edgar when next he saw him, because that would mean that Edgar had betrayed them.
And yet, the knowledge that Nell was with the king was comforting. It was just too bad (and annoying) that his sight was so unreliable that it hadn’t told him about the danger to King Arthur before it happened.
Myrddin didn’t know this part of Wales well, so he was forced to rely on the others for guidance. He’d spent his life doing exactly that but, somehow, without him realizing it was happening, since the fight at the Strait he’d grown used to making important decisions for himself and the men he led. But even if he had to rely on others here, he could still track, and he held up his hand to stop the company.
“The tracks go both west, and on,” he said to Gareth and Godric. “Do either of you know where the western path leads?”
“To a manor owned by Lord Edgar of Wigmore,” Godric said, as if Myrddin should have known that already—and perhaps he should. “It’s about a quarter mile in.”
Myrddin heart skipped a beat, and he had to refrain from raising his hands to the heavens in thanks. “Edgar was supposed to ride there with Nell and Huw last night. Perhaps they are still there. Perhaps we are not too late!” Myrddin jerked his head at Gareth. “Stay with the men. Godric and I will have a look.”
“I should go,” Gareth said.
“No,” Myrddin said, trying to keep the impatience out of his voice and undoubtedly failing, “you are memorable and that’s the last thing we want right now. If Nell and Huw are there—and by some miracle the king too—we can take a quick look around without drawing undue attention to ourselves and then return here to formulate a plan for rescuing them.”
Mollified, Gareth gave way. Myrddin’s intent hadn’t been to butter him up. Gareth was memorable, and the last thing they wanted, if King Arthur was being held prisoner at Edgar’s manor, was to worry the defenders of the fort with the appearance of a Welsh nobleman whom the Saxons might not quite trust—no matter whose side he claimed to be on.
Godric waved a hand to his men to indicate they should stay with Gareth, and then he and Myrddin rode on ahead, cantering the promised quarter of a mile in hardly any time at all, even if Myrddin’s heart was in his throat the whole time. Edgar’s manor house was protected by a ten-foot-high palisade. The wide gate was currently closed, and the snow in front of it had been trampled, indicating that a large company had passed through it since the snow had stopped falling.
With calm assurance, Godric tipped up his chin to call to the sentry on duty. “I wish to speak to Lord Edgar of Wigmore. I am sent from Lord Cedric of Brecon.”
A man leaned down. The descending darkness was hiding all of his features but his chin and half his face, which were visible in the torchlight that shone from the guard tower. “He is not here.”
Godric looked appropriately puzzled. “Where has he gone?”
“To Wroxeter.”
“To Lord Modred?” Godric said. “Why?”
The man shouted laughter. “Because in the aftermath of the battle at Buellt, King Arthur was captured by Beorhtsige and his men. They came here looking for provisions, and my lord aided them.”
Myrddin cleared his throat and tried for a Saxon accent in mimicry of Godric. “Do you have there with you a woman and a young man, who rode in with Lord Edgar last night?”
The guard made a motion with his head that came off as to mean both yes and no. “They were here but they left with Edgar. Something about presenting them as a prize to Modred. I didn’t understand why Modred would care.”
Myrddin’s face darkened with a sudden boiling anger that threatened to burst out of him, and it was just as well that it was too dark for the guard to see him properly. Godric put out a steadying hand to Myrddin, while at the same time calling up to the guard, “We’ll be on our way to Wroxeter then. Did they take the high road?”
“Straight and fast. With King Arthur among them, Beorhtsige had no intention of stopping for more than a few moments’ rest until he reached Modred’s palace.”
“Thank you.” Godric turned his horse.
The guard disappeared from above the palisade before Myrddin could trust himself to formulate a reply. As he made to follow Godric, however, out of the corner of his eye he saw a crimson splotch on the ground, somewhat off to one side of the main path. Even in the near darkness, the color stood out like a beacon on the patch of white snow. Afraid even more now than before, Myrddin dismounted to crouch low to the ground.
“What is it?” Though Godric had set off from the gate, he returned when he realized Myrddin hadn’t followed him.
Myrddin touched the drop with a finger and brought it to his tongue. “Wine.” He heaved a sigh of relief.
The darkness was growing, but the torches on the wall walk still threw out enough light for him to see another twenty feet in front of him. “There’s another.” He pointed to a spot ten feet away.
“And another,” Godric said, having walked his horse further along the path. “Someone has a leaky wineskin.” He looked back at Myrddin. “Could the leak be intentional?”
“Intentional or not, someone has left us a path to follow.” Myrddin remounted his horse, and the two men cantered back to where Gareth waited with the rest of Godric’s company, who must have heard them coming because they were already mounted by the time Myrddin and Godric appeared along the path.
Myrddin slowed to a stop and snapped his fingers for a torch held by one of Godric’s men. He wanted to find the next drop of wine to make sure they were truly going in the right direction.
Meanwhile, Gareth urged his horse forward and spoke to Godric. “What did you find?”
Godric made a growling sound under his breath. “We were right that King Arthur was captured by a company of Saxons. They came here, to Edgar of Wigmore’s fort. Edgar, Nell, and Huw are riding to Wroxeter with him—Nell and Huw as captives too. According to the guard, they are riding openly and with little rest—and someone has very kindly left us a path.” He pointed to the droplet of wine beside which Myrddin had crouched.
Gareth was appalled. “I thought you said Edgar had shifted his allegiance to King Arthur?”
Myrddin turned to look up at him. “I did, because that’s what he said. I see now that he would have used any excuse to effect his escape from Buellt.” The anger rose in him again, but he swallowed it down. He had to maintain a cool head if he was going to have any chance to save not only the king but his wife and son too. “I fear for whoever is responsible for the leaky wineskin. If he’s caught—”
Gareth shook his head. “The Saxon band has to know we are following—and also that we are well behind them. I’m far more concerned about them luring us into an ambush.”
“Since we know where they’re going,” Godric said, “we should take a different road.”
“What other road is there?” Myrddin said.
“All roads lead to Wroxeter, Myrddin,” Godric said. “The Romans built theirs, yes, but my people have lived in this land for a hundred years, and we have our own pathways.”
Gareth’s jaw was set. “My people lived here for a thousand years before any of you came, and we had ours too.” He looked at Myrddin. “I assure you that from here, the high road is not the only road.”
“As I said.” Godric glared at Gareth.
The two men were no more than a year apart
in age, and their training was of a kind, but one had been raised a Welsh lord and the other a Saxon knight. Their minds had been forged in worlds apart—except in this case, they were in complete agreement, even if they couldn’t see it themselves.
Myrddin made a chopping motion to stop their fruitless argument. “We will do as you both suggest. I don’t know this region of Wales, so I need the two of you to work together to find us the best path, whether Welsh or Saxon I do not care—and nor should either of you.”
Gareth and Godric glared at each other for another two heartbeats, and then, as if each had taken the measure of the other and found him not as wanting as initially supposed, they subsided.
“Fine,” Gareth said, “I would say that the best path runs to Castell Collen, where we can strike out due east for Leintwardine.”
“I agree.” Godric’s eyes narrowed as if he couldn’t believe he’d just said that. “The Roman road goes north from there, and then turns east again to Wroxeter.”
“So we go east from there and then north to come at Wroxeter directly from the south,” Gareth said. “If Godric is willing, we should send three or four men to follow Edgar’s company—and the drops of wine—in case he diverges from this road. At least that way, if Beorhtsige lied about where he was headed, we won’t lose them completely.”
Myrddin nodded, satisfied that the pair had become companions in this. He found himself amused as well, which was an odd emotion to be feeling under these circumstances. “I will follow your lead.”
Chapter Six
13 December 537
Nell
They’d ridden for nearly sixteen hours through night and day to reach Wroxeter. Nell would have lauded it as a triumph of horsemanship if she hadn’t been falling off her horse herself in exhaustion. Every muscle in her body ached—and she hadn’t even had to ride the whole way with her hands tied as had King Arthur and Huw.
At various times during the long ride, Huw had wanted to attempt to free the king, but Nell had watched his guards closely, and at no time throughout the whole of the journey had they left him guarded by fewer than three men. As Beorhtsige had insisted, King Arthur was his prize, and he was taking no chances that the opportunity to stand victorious before Modred was going to be taken from him.
A Long Cloud (The Lion of Wales Book 4) Page 4
