by Myers, Karen
His heavy mare stood calmly fetlock-deep in the stream. The boy on the pony pushed back from its neck and tried to kick it into the water, but the pony wouldn’t budge. He looked to be about eight years old and close to tears.
I could make the pony do it, George thought, but then it would just happen again later. “Now, son,” he said, “relax for a moment.”
The boy looked up at him, startled.
“Set yourself in the saddle and take several deep breaths.”
The boy said, “But, sir, you’ll want to be getting on.”
“Never mind me, I’m in no hurry.” George waited for him to settle down calmly on the pony.
“Good. What you want to do is straighten up and put your heels down.”
The boy nodded.
“Tell yourself: we’re going across that stream, and say it like you mean it.”
He watched the boy grit his teeth with determination, his shoulders squared back.
“Now, kick on.”
The pony took his rider’s mood and splashed into and across the stream.
“Attaboy,” George told him. “Well done.” He followed him across.
The boy grinned from ear to ear at his success. “Thank you, sir!” He looked to the trees on the other side of the stream meadow and George followed his glance. Emrys was there, watching, and a fellow George remembered from the night before, one of Glesni’s councilors.
“Father, did you see?”
The two men returned to them at the stream. George cast his mind out to check for the hunt and told them, “The stag is headed back this way. If we stand here, together, we may see it pass.”
They waited for a few moments, and then they heard the hounds in the distance. Well in front of them something stirred the bushes on the forest edge, and then the deer bounded out, crossed the meadow with speed, and disappeared across the stream above them. The boy stared, his mouth open. George could feel Cernunnos stir within him, taking an interest. So this is what a red deer looks like, he thought. Magnificent. The antlers were long and heavy even this late in the winter, but he looked in good condition, not too worn out by the rut. The hounds, most of the pack by now, followed behind in full cry after a moment’s delay.
The little group stood still and let the first riders catch up and go on ahead of them. Just as George was about to move on, the boy’s father leaned over to him.
“Thank you for your attention to my son.”
George laughed. “I’m glad he’s having a good time.”
He started to turn his horse to follow the riders with Emrys, when the man stopped him with a hand on his arm and bit his lip before speaking again. “Drink nothing but water tonight, huntsman,” he said, and he wheeled around without another word and took his son after the rest of the hunters.
George looked over at Emrys in dismay. “So it’s going to be like this, then, every place we go?”
Emrys said, “Gwyn told me, ‘Keep him alive and let him be himself.’ We’ll just have to be on our guard.”
CHAPTER 15
Now, Creiddylad thought. Now, while the huntsman is away.
“It’s true, father,” she said. “I know he doesn’t look like much, and he hardly has a trace of fae blood to leaven the mix, but Cernunnos has taken an interest in him. Remember, he did kill Madog, whatever he says.”
Lludd nodded heavily. They were alone in his chambers, as they were most mornings for the first meal of the day.
“Camulos is a match for the horned one, I have no doubt,” he said. “The ram against the stag.”
“True, but think of the damage he could do to the ways, in my brother’s hand. At the very least he could forestall pursuit, shutting a way behind him. And at the worst…” She shook her head dramatically, “he could shut down all the ways, and Cernunnos would help. That’s what happened to Madog, in Dyffryn Camarch. I fear for your safety, father.”
He acknowledged her concern. “I will set a judgment for him after the ceremony, not before. There will be fewer in attendance then, to interfere.”
That was the best she could hope to achieve on that front, and she had learned not to push her father too hard. She changed the subject.
“People are talking…” she said, letting it trail off.
His curiosity was piqued. “What about?”
“Angharad. Gwyn even gave him Angharad, and you know how unsuitable that is, that she be matched to a short-lived human.”
He rested his chin on his hand. “Her children have already spoken to me about it. They are shamed by it, as they should be.”
“And I hear she carries his child. Another shame that will be to them,” Creiddylad murmured.
He nodded, scowling.
“I fear this all reflects on you, father, on her disregard for your authority.” She looked earnestly into his face to see how he was taking this, then she set her hook.
“You should take her back and reassert your rights in her. She’s your court artist, and you never gave her leave to depart.”
His fist clenched.
She leaned back in her chair, content. “Others remember this, if you do not.”
Angharad was not happy to be seated at the high table but she had no say in the matter. Rhian’s ceremony was ten days away and George would be away for most of that time, so she did her best to put a good face on it.
She’d been furious with Gwyn after George left, that he would send him almost alone into this nest of vipers that were Lludd’s great lords. He’d stood calm before her and waited for her to pause to draw breath.
“I believe he will be fine,” he said, “and he can accomplish much good, though he may not recognize it.”
She’d been prepared to continue, her worry overriding her judgment, when Gwyn stopped her. “He had to do this, Angharad. It’s what he’s made for.”
He didn’t explain himself, and she was left to puzzle out his meaning. What did that phrase remind her of? She’d been chewing on it since yesterday.
Cai. It reminded her of Cai, her second husband. They’d said that of him, too, toward the end, that he was meant to be a paladin. She hardly ever saw him, those last years.
George was nothing like Cai. He was warm and a bit reckless where Cai had always been calculating and shrewd. And yet… They were both champions of justice. She didn’t doubt that George would rather stay with his family, unlike Cai, but he was changing before her eyes, growing into something more than when they met. Was she too close to see it? Was Gwyn’s perspective more accurate?
Rhian, on the other side of Maelgwn from her, interrupted her thoughts. “What is it, Angharad? You look so worried.”
Angharad made herself smile. “Never mind, dear, just my thoughts straying into unpleasant paths. What do you think of all this, so far?”
Rhian looked around the great hall, several times the size of the one at Greenway Court. “I’ll be glad to go home,” she admitted. “I have no friends here, and I feel like I’m being hunted, all the time.”
Between them, Maelgwn nodded.
“Not what you expected, is it?” Angharad said, sadly.
“What is it George says? All experience is good?” Maelgwn chorused the last few words with her and Rhian grinned. “This won’t kill me, and I’ll feel more comfortable next time.”
They stopped chatting to attend to Lludd, seated several spaces away from Angharad on her left, at the center of the high table.
“Where is your huntsman?” he asked Gwyn, at his right hand. “I haven’t see him since his arrival.”
“I didn’t want to bother you, father. I have him running some errands for me.”
Lludd watched him a moment, expressionless. Then he lifted his head to gaze further down the table, directly at Angharad.
“If your husband takes so little care of you, Angharad, I see no reason you should be expected to wait for him.”
She held her breath.
“I will give you back your old quarters, and you need rely on him
for nothing,” he said, in a tone of command.
He’s going to imprison me, she thought, however pleasant the cage.
“You do me too much honor, my lord king. I would rather wait for my husband in my lord Gwyn’s guest quarters.” She raised her voice so that the nearby court could clearly hear her.
She felt Maelgwn at her side freeze, prepared to defend her. She kicked him under the table to stop him.
Rhian said, “Sire, I rely upon my kinswoman to help me prepare for the ceremony. I would be lost without her.”
Angharad saw the sharp look Gwyn shot her, his head turned away from Lludd. She had no trouble reading it. “Leave it,” he was saying, with his expression. “Drop the subject.”
Lludd didn’t notice the byplay. “You’ll be able to consult with her as before, and there will be more space in her old rooms.”
Clang. It was done, and the doors were shut. She noticed Maelgwn nodding in approval to Rhian for her brash attempt at defense, but it didn’t cheer her. Her allies were powerless for now.
All that evening, after dinner, Maelgwn stuck close to Angharad’s heels as her belongings were moved from the bedroom she’d shared with her husband to a suite of rooms down the same corridor.
The apartment had already been cleaned and ready, the bed made, and Maelgwn knew therefore that Lludd had been planning this move, that it was no spur of the moment whim. He didn’t blame Gwyn. There was no way for Gwyn to prevent this without allies in place and Angharad was not being truly harmed for now.
But his own responsibilities were clear. He would attend her as he would his foster-father, as both guard and squire.
Two men in ram’s-head livery stood their posts at the door of her apartment. Angharad’s friends were all to be allowed to come and go, except for George when he should return. Angharad could leave for meals, but her guards would accompany her for that.
He placed himself in a corner of the front room where he could watch the doorway. Angharad stood with Gwyn, surveying her possessions and her old rooms, quiet for the moment.
“May I sleep here, foster-mother?” Maelgwn said.
She glanced over at him. “I would be glad of your company,” she said.
Gwyn shot a look of approval at Maelgwn, and he blinked in surprise at the notice, then worked to make himself invisible once more.
Gwyn spoke quietly to Angharad. “Can you bear this, for a while?”
“He wants me back on the old terms, for hire. He’ll fear to force the issue for some time, I think.” She sighed wearily and gave him a look. “I’ll be fine, don’t be concerned.”
“Should I tell George? He’ll be back in about ten days anyway, for Rhian’s ceremony. Why worry him?”
She shook her head. “Not wise. If he finds out on his own, he’ll be… uncontrollable.”
Maelgwn pictured that for a moment and silently agreed with her.
“You’re right,” Gwyn said, conceding.
“I’ll write him a note and you can have it intercept him on his rounds.”
Maelgwn spoke up. “I could carry it for you, foster-mother.”
They both started, as if they had forgotten he was there. Gwyn seemed to consider it for a moment.
“No, it would be better for you to be here, I think, someone she can rely on. But I thank you, kinsman, for the offer.”
Maelgwn was stunned. It was the first time Gwyn had called him by that name. Acknowledged kin to the Prince of Annwn, was he? He determined to make them all proud of him.
CHAPTER 16
By the next afternoon Angharad had begun to implement her plans. She was indifferent to the comforts in her apartment and their arrangement. Instead, she threw herself into opening the packages of supplies that had begun arriving from the town outside the castle walls.
Maelgwn helped her set up her easels and store her supplies on the old shelves she’d used before, when she was last in her position as court painter. Paints, charcoals, brushes—the tools of her trade poured in from the merchants, and she sent all the bills to Lludd.
She’d spoken to Bleddyn the night before and told him she would be auditioning apprentices while she was here. Might as well make good use of her time. Besides, it would gall Lludd to see her conduct business as usual, as if his disapproval were a matter of indifference to her, as indeed it was. She left the doors to her suite open so that all who passed could see her working in the front room, where the light was best. The guards closed the doors from time to time, but she opened them again whenever she passed by. It was becoming a wordless game between them.
She put her first stretched canvas on an easel and prepared the surface. Then she pulled out a new large pad of paper and with it a new piece of charcoal and a clean rag for smudging.
Before she could sit down with these at her large worktable, a disturbance in the doorway drew her attention. A courier in Gwyn’s livery stood there, demanding entrance.
Angharad summoned him in, and the guards let him pass.
“Did you get my message to my husband,” she asked him.
He bowed to her. “Yes, my lady.”
“And did you wait for a reply?”
The courier gave a nervous laugh. “When I saw his wrath at your note, I would not have dared to depart.” He sobered again as befit his station. “But then it passed and he said these words for you, ‘I will come for you.’ I wondered then that he did not follow me immediately, but he bade me say, further, ‘I will see you next on Rhian’s great day,’ and dismissed me.”
“Thank you for your service,” she said, with as much dignity as she could muster.
She sat down at her table with the paper and charcoal and looked down for a moment, running George’s words through her imagination. She could well imagine both the wrath and the clenched teeth through which he spoke. She knew he would indeed come, that not all of Lludd’s power would keep him away.
She smiled softly to herself in anticipation. Time to start striking her own blows. She began to sketch the subject for her painting with a few strong lines.
Maelgwn looked over her shoulder as she worked, a quiet presence she was grateful for. The servant assigned to her room continued his work of picking up the discarded packaging for her purchases. As she worked, she vaguely noticed he was lingering inconspicuously to watch her draw, too, when he could do so without being obvious.
Maelgwn started to turn as if to object to the subtle intrusion, but Angharad touched his leg behind her with her free hand and shook her head softly. Let him look, she thought. Maybe he could learn something.
Under her hands an antlered head began to form on the paper.
Several days later, Maelgwn stood quietly in his favorite corner and marveled at the changes in Angharad’s rooms. One entire bedroom was given over to clothes for Rhian’s ceremony, but the biggest change was in the main room, open as usual to the corridor. Sketches hung all over the walls, and a painting in the early stages occupied one of the easels. The man-servant assigned to her quarters, Bedo, had a hard time keeping it reasonably tidy.
Maelgwn had noticed that Bedo always seemed to be there when Angharad was hard at work, but he left him alone after his foster-mother’s warning that first day. He seemed harmless enough, but Maelgwn kept an eye on him anyway.
She put her palette down and laid her brush aside when Bleddyn appeared in the doorway and ushered in the latest candidate for her apprenticeship. This one was a woman of middle years. The last one had been a young man.
“Angharad, may I present Glynis?” Bleddyn said. He took a comfortable chair and left his guest standing.
The woman curtsied low. “I would like to learn whatever I can from you, my lady.”
Angharad nodded to her. “You are welcome. Would you please do a sketch for me?”
She pointed out a pile of paper on the worktable, and an array of pencils and charcoal sticks.
Glynis took her seat. “What shall I draw, my lady?”
“A red deer’s head, in an
tler,” Angharad replied.
The woman glanced around the room. Studies of red deer were everywhere, in a variety of different hands. On Angharad’s easel was a partly finished painting of George as Cernunnos, the deer head and neck on the human body.
She swallowed and began sketching.
Maelgwn watched Bedo position himself unobtrusively to observe as the figure took shape under her fingers. He shook his head slightly as if in private judgment on her work and indeed after twenty minutes or so Angharad dismissed her politely, sending a pointed look toward her seated mentor.
“Hang this with the others,” she told Bedo.
She rounded on Bleddyn. “Why bring me a candidate like that?” she said.
“There aren’t that many available,” he said, “and you wanted a constant stream of them.”
She looked down. Her temper was fraying but it wasn’t her mentor’s fault. “You’re right, I’m sorry. Do keep them coming, and I thank you.”
Bleddyn took his leave and was almost knocked down by Lludd striding in with wrath on his face. Lludd glanced at the sketches on the wall in a fury.
“What do you mean by this?” he demanded.
“My lord king?” she inquired, coolly.
“These deer heads,” he spat out.
“Why, that’s the subject for my next painting.” She gestured at the work on the easel, “and of course I need to do studies for that. As you can see, I find it convenient to set these apprentice candidates to the same task, for ease of comparison.”
“I’ve heard the stories about Gwyn’s huntsman,” he growled. “Find something else.”
“I think not, my lord.”
Maelgwn braced himself for an outburst. Bedo put his tray down and backed up and stood beside him, watchful and quiet. His hands were loose by his side as if he waited to draw a weapon. He looks like he could fight, if he needed to, Maelgwn thought. I wonder how he ended up here.
