“Believe me, my lord, I had all the arrogance beaten out of me in the first three months of my service to Lord Cedric,” Huw said, remembering the long nights of watch, the humiliating jobs forced upon him, and the lack of opportunity to rest.
Arthur laughed. “Cedric doesn’t suffer fools gladly, it is true. Before a man can be trusted, he must be tamed—” Arthur canted his head, his gaze again fixed on Huw, “or tame himself.”
As the king spoke, Huw realized that the people in the hall weren’t the only ones who were watching him. King Arthur, probably from the moment he had arrived at Garth Celyn, had been aware of everything Huw had been doing. Huw was glad that he hadn’t known about the constant testing at the time, or he might have been unable to act at all. It also gave his knighting at the beach a new significance.
The door to the hall opened, and the steward of Caer Caradoc, a man named Aron, strode towards the dais. He came to a halt on the opposite side of the table from Cador. “Lord Tefyn of Caer Croesi has come!”
Cador stood. “He has brought men?”
“He has come himself with a dozen riders. More of his men follow on foot.”
Cador looked to King Arthur, who stood now too and said, “Good. I will greet him.”
Aron bowed. “Yes, my lord.”
He strode back the way he’d come.
“The first of many, I hope,” Cador said, “or this will be the shortest battle in our long history.”
King Arthur glanced down at Huw. “Stay at my side. Watch and learn. Lord Tefyn is the younger son of Pedr, a man who died suddenly last year along with his eldest son.”
Huw looked warily at the king. “Is there some significance to these deaths?”
“I am concerned about how they died.”
Cador grunted. “The rumors about the sudden sickness that afflicted them are what has brought Tefyn and his men here so quickly. He will want to distinguish himself in battle, as proof that God loves him—and out of the hope that you will too.”
“Have you questioned him about how they died?” Huw said.
“No, no.” Cador wagged a finger at him. “His lands are only six miles from here and form part of the border with Mercia. Modred made overtures to Pedr, and Pedr withstood them. I have needed time to judge the capacity of this younger son.”
Huw nodded his understanding. “You don’t want to drive him into Modred’s arms.”
“I do not,” Cador said. “As with the way the king observed you, it takes time to determine if we have a snake in our midst. A man can’t kill his father and elder brother and remain unchanged.”
“Listen to Cador. He has wisdom,” King Arthur said.
Cador eyed Arthur for a moment, but then looked again to Huw, having more instruction to give him. “A lord wields power. He does not allow it to wield him.”
“Yes, my lord,” Huw said, even though he didn’t really have any idea what Cador was talking about. He did understand that as lord of these lands, Cador had the power to depose Tefyn at any time were he to learn definitively that he was a murderer. The issue at hand wasn’t just the way Tefyn’s father and brother had died. It was the politics of the time.
Questions had been raised about Arthur himself upon the deaths of Ambrosius and Uther within six months of each other, since their deaths had opened the way for Arthur to take the throne. Urien of Rheged had been one of those doubters, and he had never fully come around to supporting Arthur. But because his lands were located to the north of Mercia, the Saxon kingdom that separated Rheged from the remaining British kingdoms in Wales, Arthur had never called Urien to account. For the most part, both men had been kept busy in their own lands fighting off the Saxon invaders. While Arthur had to contend with Mercia and Wessex, Urien had long been beset by the Saxon kingdoms of Deira and Bernicia. And like Arthur, almost daily, he lost ground.
Huw met the king’s eyes. “Is it your intent, if Urien helps you defeat Modred, that you will send men to the north to aid in his fight against Deira and Bernicia?”
“The Saxons drive us farther west with every year that passes. They have been able to do so because they have taken so much land already, and they outnumber us. One Saxon army attacks us in the south, another in the west, and a third in the north. If we can defeat Modred here, then I will have men to spare to aid Urien. He is backed up against the Irish Sea as we are.”
“And if we cannot defeat Modred?” Huw said.
“Then Urien will be on his own. Now—” Arthur put out a hand to Huw. “Watch carefully. Later I will want to hear your impression of Tefyn.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Tefyn came through the door and made his way on long legs towards the high table. To Huw’s eyes, he and Tefyn were similar in age, though Tefyn was taller. It seemed he’d taken a moment to wash before entering the king’s presence, because his hair was wet and smoothed back from his face, which was also clean. He really did want to make a good impression.
“My king.” Tefyn put his feet together and bowed. “I have come.”
Arthur put his hands flat on the table. “Thank you, Tefyn. You are the first. How many men do you bring me?”
“A hundred men, my lord. Ten horse, who are with me now, twenty archers, and seventy spears, though many of the spearmen carry bows as well.”
Arthur left his seat to come around the table, and he surprised Huw—and seemingly Tefyn too—by embracing the young lord. “You are most welcome. How did you hear of our need?”
“A rider passed through yesterday, my lord,” Tefyn said. “I came as soon as I could. The men coming on foot will be arriving later today.”
Huw had stood when the king had stood, as was required, but now the king gestured him around the table too. “This is Huw ap Myrddin. His father is my cousin and heir. Huw is overseeing the disposition of all of the men who come. Anything you need, you ask him.”
Tefyn’s eyes had widened to look at Huw, and Huw hoped he’d managed to hide his surprise a little better—not so much to be mentioned in the same breath as his father, but that Arthur had effectively just made him steward of all the Welsh forces, for now at least.
“Where shall we set up camp, my lord?” Tefyn said to Huw.
Huw cleared his throat, hoping that when he spoke his words wouldn’t come out a squeak. “We will cover the Lawley and the Long Mynd with men. Modred, when he comes, will find himself surrounded on three sides and confined to the field of Camlann that lies before Caer Caradoc.”
Huw spoke as if he knew what he was talking about, but everything he’d just said he’d learned by listening to Arthur, Myrddin, and Cador yesterday. They’d outlined the defenses, where they would ideally position the spearman and the archers, from what lords they could draw for food and mead if the battle was extended, and strategy for defeating Modred’s forces themselves.
Tefyn put his heels together, bowed first to Huw and then to King Arthur, and departed.
Hiding a smile, King Arthur put a hand on Huw’s shoulder and shook him slightly. “Good. You were listening. And better, you remembered what you heard.”
“I don’t know that I am ready for this, my lord.”
“This is our last stand, Huw. We all have no choice but to be ready.”
Chapter Eight
15 December 537
Nell
Myrddin and Nell were going to have to sleep eventually. With a twinge, Nell ran over the last few days in her head, calculating that she’d slept fitfully the night of the eleventh of December at Edgar’s lodge, after she and Myrddin had parted. The night of the twelfth had been spent on the road to Wroxeter, and then she, Arthur, and Huw had slept through most of the following day, a blessing that had saved them for the night of the thirteenth, in which sleep had been aborted entirely by their flight west to Caer Caradoc. She’d slept yesterday after the council of war with King Arthur, though she did not know that Myrddin had done so, busy as he’d been with planning and preparations for the coming battle.
And then last night had again been spent in the saddle. No wonder they were both prone to visions. Their minds had become addled from lack of sleep.
Twelve hours after leaving Caer Caradoc, they were both still managing to stay upright, however, even after a fifty-mile journey. Side by side, they approached the main gate into the city of Chester, yet another abandoned Roman fort that had been refortified in recent years, this time by Urien of Rheged, who’d made it the southernmost outpost of his kingdom. Like Wroxeter, the entire city was a fort, laid out on a flat plain rather than on the heights like Caer Caradoc, though it did occupy a large sandstone bluff that overlooked the River Dee. Unlike at Wroxeter, however, the Roman stone had not given way to wooden defenses. Urien had rebuilt whatever had been damaged in the century since the Romans left, and the Saxons had yet to take it from him.
The River Dee looped around the city, protecting it from enemy advances on the south and west sides. A guarded stone bridge spanned the river to the south. To the west, the road from the city’s west gate ended at a dock, which allowed the city to be fortified from the sea if necessary. Nell and Myrddin crossed the ditch and rampart that protected the approach to the walls, and with hardly more than a cursory glance, were admitted through the gatehouse. As Nell entered the city proper, it struck her that this was what Modred had hoped to make of Wroxeter: a monument to his power and wealth. Except that Urien had succeeded where Modred had failed.
Nell had never met King Urien before, but Myrddin knew him—and he certainly knew his son, who was just coming down the steps from Urien’s hall, presumably once the headquarters of the Roman general who ruled here. Nell and Myrddin came to a halt in the street.
Owain stopped too, recognizing Myrddin immediately. His face lit with a mixture of surprise and amusement. “You sly dog, Myrddin! What are you doing here?”
“Much has happened since we last spoke, Prince Owain.” Myrddin dismounted and helped Nell down too. She noted that Myrddin had carefully not called him my lord. The only person Myrddin was obligated to defer to these days was a king. “First, I would like to introduce you to my wife, Nell.”
“Wife!” Owain looked like he was on the verge of calling Myrddin a dog again, but thought better of it now that he knew who Nell was. Instead, he canted his head and gave her a quick bow. “It is a pleasure, madam.”
“To me too, my prince,” Nell said.
Owain made a sweeping motion with his arm. “Come in where it’s warm and tell me the rest of your news! We’ve had no riders from the south in days, and my father was beginning to wonder if Modred hadn’t overtaken all Wales by now.”
“Far from it.” Myrddin escorted Nell up the steps and through the doors. “And we are here to see your father, if we may.”
“Of course,” Owain said. “Are you sent by Arthur?”
“Yes.”
Nell turned her head to whisper to Myrddin. “You have to tell him who you really are!”
He gave a low laugh. “I don’t know how. I can’t.”
“Someone had better, because it will be awkward later if we don’t.”
“Leave it for now. It isn’t what’s important,” Myrddin said.
Myrddin was asked to leave his sword at the hall’s entrance before they were allowed to enter. Though Roman in origin and built in stone, the hall functioned like any other in that it was filled with breakfasters. The sun was newly risen and shone weakly through the eastern windows. Despite the absence of a central fire or any visible means of heating the hall, it was amazingly warm. If they had time, Nell would have loved to learn the secret.
For now, however, their business was pressing. King Urien held court at the high table, and Owain led them directly there. Even though Myrddin was the son of Ambrosius, he put his feet together and bowed as if he wasn’t. “My lord. I bring word from King Arthur.”
“Finally.” Urien dropped a piece of buttered bread to his bowl. “Last I heard, he’d gone south to meet with Edgar of Wigmore.”
“You knew about that?” Nell was suddenly wary as to how he could have known about it, since Edgar’s message wasn’t something Arthur had shared with many people.
“Of course.” Urien gestured to Myrddin. “Please continue.”
Myrddin hesitated. “Some of the things I have to say might be better said in private.”
King Urien narrowed his eyes for a moment, but then he jerked his head at his son, stood, and left the hall for a smaller room accessed through a doorway in the wall behind the high table. Nell, Myrddin, and Owain followed, and Nell was pleased to find that this room was even warmer than the hall. Owain took up a position against the wall, alongside several guards who seemed permanently posted to the room. Urien gestured for Nell to sit next to a brazier, and he took a second seat catty-corner to her.
Myrddin chose to stand, and again he put his heels together and dipped his head in a bow. Straightening, he said, “King Arthur’s forces met the Mercians at Buellt and were victorious. Agravaine, Modred’s foremost counselor, was killed. Now, King Arthur seeks a final confrontation with Modred, who is much weakened, on the field of Camlann.”
“Before Caer Caradoc?” Urien said.
“Yes,” Myrddin said. “King Arthur has fully committed all his men and resources and asks for your support for the endeavor.”
Urien pursed his lips for a moment, and then he nodded to the guards behind Myrddin. “Take him.”
“What?” Nell surged to her feet. “My lord—we are emissaries from King Arthur!”
“He is an enemy spy,” Urien said.
“Nell, leave it.” Myrddin himself seemed completely unsurprised at this turn of events.
She gritted her teeth to keep herself from speaking. Neither of them had seen this outcome. Or if Myrddin had, he hadn’t said anything about it to her. One look at Urien told her that she would get nothing from him, so she turned in appeal to Owain. He, however, was looking on impassively without so much as a single shift in his shoulders, so she backed away. Meanwhile, Myrddin was bound, his hands behind his back and his arms held by Urien’s soldiers.
Myrddin lifted his chin to Urien. “You intend to betray Arthur?”
Urien scoffed. “It is only a betrayal if I was ever loyal. Which I have not been, as you well know.”
“You fought with Arthur a few years ago against the Mercians,” Myrddin said.
“A temporary alliance.”
“Without your men, there is a good chance that Arthur will fall. Wales will fall,” Myrddin said.
“Such is my hope,” Urien said.
“You hate him that much?”
“I am being pragmatic.”
Myrddin laughed without humor. “Do you think that by supporting Modred against Arthur he will leave you be? That he will be so occupied with his new conquest that he will not turn his attention to you? Do you think he has some influence on the men of Deira or Bernicia who press you so hard? I assure you he does not. If you allow Arthur to fall, you will have no place to retreat to when the Saxons come for you.”
Urien scoffed again. “I have long been deprived of what was rightfully mine. No longer.”
Nell quailed inside, finally understanding what was happening. Urien had made a deal with Modred. If Urien supported him against Arthur, a portion of Wales would be his. She didn’t speak what was in her mind, however, and Urien jerked his head to his men to indicate that they should remove Myrddin from the room.
Two soldiers tugged Myrddin towards an outside door, which lay behind Nell. But as they approached, Nell stepped forward to block their way. “May I have a moment?” She would have preferred to fade into the background and not call undue attention to herself, but she couldn’t allow them to take Myrddin away without a word.
Owain moved to stand near Nell. At first she thought it was to stop her from speaking to Myrddin, but as the guard looked at him for permission, Owain flicked out one finger. “One moment only.”
The guards didn’t let go of Myrddin, but they looke
d away as Nell went up on her toes to kiss Myrddin’s lips. “It will be all right.”
“Nell.” Her name came out a growl. “You will not do what is in your head. You will not.”
“I told you I wouldn’t.”
His eyes narrowed, clearly not believing her. “As your husband, I forbid you to try.”
Nell clenched the edges of his cloak with both fists and looked up into his face. “It might be the only way.”
“It is not. Promise me that you will not leave Chester, that you will not go to Modred’s camp. Say it!”
Nell let out a breath. “I will not leave. Not today. Not until we’ve tried everything else.”
Myrddin still didn’t look satisfied. “Say you promise, Nell. Give me your word.”
“Yes, my lord. I promise.”
Myrddin was right to be wary whenever she called him lord, but they had no more time to talk because the guards, who’d listened with interest to this cryptic conversation, prodded Myrddin’s back and got him walking.
Owain stared after him. “What was that about?”
“Defeating Modred, whatever the cost.”
Owain sneered in mimicry of his father. “There is nothing you can do to prevent Modred’s ultimate victory. The Britons are few and the Saxons many. We decided long since that if we are to survive, it must be at their side.”
Nell turned on him. “You do realize what legacy you will inherit, don’t you? Your father will be known forevermore as Urien the Betrayer.”
“Not if Arthur falls,” Owain said.
“You fool. This is King Arthur we’re talking about. If Arthur falls, Urien’s name will be cursed, and he will be consigned to the farthest reaches of hell. And if Arthur wins, nobody will remember either Rheged or your father at all.”
Frost Against the Hilt (The Lion of Wales Book 5) Page 6
