“Yes.”
“So you’re saying that it matters this time,” Huw said. “You’re saying that it has reached a point where I have to decide the greater loyalty.”
“Yes, if Cedric sticks with Modred. You can’t both be Welsh and serve him. When Cedric himself freed me from Modred’s grasp, however, he took a step towards shifting allegiance. It is also possible that Modred wanted me free, but wanted me freed covertly.”
“Lord Cedric ap Aelfric has always dealt forthrightly with his men,” Huw said, back to being a staunch supporter. “He is a good leader.”
“I’ll grant you that, but I must warn you, my son, that not everyone in this castle trusts your motives.” Myrddin had deliberated with himself as to whether he should mention it, but the time seemed right.
“They fear I would betray King Arthur?” Huw said, eyes wide, a typical youth who still saw everything in black and white instead of realizing the world was mottled shades of grey.
“Think, Huw,” Myrddin said. “This shouldn’t surprise you. King Arthur has been betrayed by family, friends, and hidden foes more times than he can count. Is it any wonder some of his counselors would look askance at my newly claimed son who so conveniently rides to me from Brecon?”
“I see your point.” Huw nodded, although Myrddin wasn’t sure if he quite did.
“Just watch yourself,” Myrddin said. “Better to keep silent and your eyes open.”
“Yes, sir.”
They were quiet a moment, and then Huw spoke again. “It was only chance, you know, that had me risk crossing the Conwy River and entering Eryri.”
“Chance?” Myrddin said.
“In a tavern in Ruthin, I came upon a man who claimed to know you—or at least know the man whom the king knighted back in 525—but he told me you were dead. My heart fell. It seemed it was time to turn aside and return to Brecon.”
“But you didn’t,” Myrddin said.
Huw shook his head. “Later in the evening, an argument developed between the man to whom I’d spoken and another. That man accused the first of being a liar and a traitor. The latter owed fealty to Arthur while the first had supported his brother, Cai, throughout his years of treachery.” Huw glanced at Myrddin, his eyes thoughtful. “That was the tipping point. With my Lord Cedric on Anglesey, I was still free to search. I decided I wouldn’t take the word of one man who did not hold with your allegiance.”
“Praise God for that,” Myrddin said.
“So what happens now?” Huw said.
“Cedric asked me to come to him at Brecon for the return of my horse. He isn’t ready to turn wholly away from Modred or turn to King Arthur. He intends, I think, to continue our discussion.”
“Lord Cedric and his father once fought with Arthur.” Huw tipped his chin upwards and stared at the rafters.
“They did,” Myrddin said. “God willing, Cedric will again. I hope that once I’ve healed, you and I can journey together to convince him to honor that history.”
*
Myrddin thought a single night at Garth Celyn should have been enough to heal him. Nell, on the other hand, was quite happy to have him more contained than usual. Bruised ribs could take weeks to mend. If they were right about what was coming for Wales and the king, Myrddin wasn’t going to have the luxury of that much time. At least he was mobile, even if he looked and felt terrible.
The second evening back from Rhuddlan, Nell helped Myrddin hobble into the hall to share a meal with Ifan and Huw. The joy of Huw’s very existence filled Myrddin’s heart each time he said my son, as if no man before him had ever had one. She could see it. It brought her nearly to tears every time—for Myrddin’s sake and because her own heart lifted at the thought of one of her long-dead sons walking through the door. Huw was only two years older than her Llelo would have been.
They were halfway through the meal when instead of a beloved son, Deiniol pushed open the great doors and walked into the hall, an enormous grin on his face. Immediately behind him were Lord Gruffydd and his son, Owain. Cai, who’d been sitting at his place at the high table on Arthur’s right, rose to his feet. “By God, I prayed you’d come!”
He headed around the table and, in several long strides, he and Owain met in the center of the hall, careless of who watched or what they thought of this development. As Owain and Gruffydd had been co-conspirators with Cai eight years before when they’d plotted to assassinate Arthur, it was understandable that some of Arthur’s men might give them a rather less-than-effusive greeting.
Arthur, a smile on his lips that didn’t reach his eyes, canted his head in greeting to Gruffydd, who strolled down the aisle between the tables until he reached the point opposite Arthur’s seat.
“My king.” Gruffydd bowed his head, although not perhaps as far as he could have.
“Gruffydd.” Arthur gave his guest a similar, slight nod. The king gestured with his hand to the space beside him on his left, which Geraint had hastily vacated two heartbeats before. Normally, Bedwyr, Arthur’s closest confident, sat next to him on the other side, but he hadn’t appeared for the meal. Could be, he didn’t want to sit next to Cai, who’d taken his customary chair.
Then, inexplicably, Deiniol detached himself from Cai’s side and headed directly towards the four of them.
“What’s he doing?” Myrddin said.
Nell put a hand on his arm, just in case he acted first and thought later. She didn’t want Deiniol to insult her again, but she also didn’t want Myrddin to cause a scene either. In his weakened condition, Myrddin was more vulnerable than she. Deiniol, for his part, remained polite. He stopped two feet from their table, put his heels together, and bowed to Nell.
“Madam,” he said.
“Deiniol,” she replied, aiming for graciousness, although she couldn’t stop the twitch of a smile that lurked in the corner of her mouth at having to be polite to him. Perhaps humor might conquer Myrddin’s loathing.
“So you didn’t have a death wish after all,” Myrddin said.
Nell elbowed him under the table, hitting a painful spot that left him gasping, and then she smiled at Deiniol. “It was a great thing you did, bringing Gruffydd and Owain here. It must have been a dangerous journey.”
Deiniol smiled, his eyes scanning Myrddin’s bruised face. “It looks as if you’ve had it rougher than I.”
“It’s been an eventful week in your absence,” Myrddin said.
“Was the road difficult?” Nell said, still speaking as sweetly as she could.
“It was no trouble to serve my lord and bring new allies into his circle,” Deiniol said.
Nell wasn’t so sure about that.
“Does Modred know that Gruffydd’s here?” Myrddin asked Deiniol.
He shrugged. “I doubt it. Gruffydd has always followed his own road.” He lifted his chin, pointing at Huw. “Who’s this?”
“My son,” Myrddin said.
“Sir.” Huw held a cup in his hand and motioned to Deiniol with it, the same bemused expression she’d seen on his face at times when he talked to Myrddin, as if he couldn’t quite believe he was actually in Garth Celyn, sitting beside his father.
Deiniol gave a laughing cough, saluted Myrddin with a slight motion of his hand, and moved on towards Cai, leaving the four companions staring after him.
Myrddin’s lips twitched. Nell was glad to see his anger easing.
Wearing a half smile, he sat back in his chair. “Three days ago, who would you have said were the three weakest links in Modred’s control of Wales and the borderlands?”
“The lords Cedric, Edgar, and Gruffydd,” Nell said.
“And now all three have come to call,” Ifan said.
“Can he have all three, do you think?” Nell said. “Will they work with each other as well as with us?”
Myrddin made a ‘maybe’ movement with his head. “They’ve each fought Arthur in the past, but they’ve also fought each other. It’s Modred’s response when he finds out that should give Gruffydd paus
e.”
“If it’s so dangerous, why is Gruffydd here?” Nell said.
“Because he’s worried that Arthur will win,” Ifan said. “He’s afraid that if he waits too long to change sides, Arthur will no longer need him and, when he wins, give his land to someone more deserving and loyal.”
“Are we that close to victory?” Nell said.
“Gruffydd appears to think so,” Myrddin said. “Perhaps the pressure from the Saxon barons Modred is trying to unite is greater than we thought.”
Chapter Fifteen
19 November 537 AD
“Excuse me—uh—Father—what are you doing?”
“I’m up,” Myrddin said. “I am alive. I refuse to lie in that bed one hour longer.”
“Are you really planning to ride today?”
Myrddin had entered the stables, thinking to get out of the hall and put aside his endless dreaming. It seemed that every time he closed his eyes, some new manifestation of his dream of Arthur’s death swam before his eyes, each one different from the last.
“No.” Snow had begun to fall, and at his son’s words, Myrddin swung around to look behind him at the flakes floating in gentle wisps from the white sky. It had the look of continuing all day. “Up until right now, I’d forgotten Cadfarch wasn’t here. I was going to brush him.”
“I’m sorry,” Huw said. “My lord will take good care of him.”
“No doubt.” Straw crunching underneath his feet, Myrddin walked to where Huw was brushing his own horse and picked up a brush to work alongside his son.
“I’m surprised Nell let you get up.”
“She’s seeing to a birth,” Myrddin said. “She doesn’t know.”
“Is she your woman, like everyone says?” Huw carefully combed his horse’s mane rather than looking at Myrddin.
“I don’t know that she’d characterize herself that way,” Myrddin said. “To her mind, she’s nobody’s woman but her own. At the same time, between you and me—and the rest of the garrison—no man should think otherwise.”
Huw nodded. “I’ve spoken to Ifan of your injuries. When you said that they were at Modred’s behest, I hadn’t realized that he was actually present when his guards administered them.”
“Yes.” Myrddin ran his hand down the horse’s legs, feeling his sturdy hocks for damage. “Modred does as he pleases.”
“My lord!”
The call shattered the peace, and in four strides Myrddin and Huw arrived at the entrance to the stables to look out on a small company of men just coming through the gate. Gareth led them, the white plume on his helmet fading into the snowy landscape. The man beside him wore the garments of a member of the clergy, although he’d drawn up his hood to protect himself from the weather so Myrddin couldn’t see his face. Surely that’s not one of Gareth’s cousins?
But then the priest turned to hand his horse’s reins to Adda and Myrddin saw the face beneath the covering hood. The man was Anian, the Bishop of St. Asaph, who’d been party to the excommunication of King Arthur at Rhuddlan Castle.
“What’s he doing here?” Huw said.
“Joining the fold, it seems,” Myrddin said.
Huw turned back to his horse. As he did so, he asked casually—although the question was anything but casual. “You distrust him?”
“I trust very few men.”
“Not Deiniol, certainly. Nell told me of your quarrels.”
“It’s more than a quarrel,” Myrddin said, “for all that we’ve spoken no more than three sentences to each other in twenty years.”
“And Cai? You loath him.”
“That goes without saying,” Myrddin said. “These men are known traitors to King Arthur. It’s the ones who hide behind their loyalty while pocketing coins from Modred that concern me. Of them, there may be none or many, even here.”
Huw picked up the brush for currying his horse and plucked at the hairs in it.
Myrddin watched him, waiting for the question he knew was coming.
“And me? Do you trust me?”
If Myrddin could have told Huw without humiliating him that he was transparent, he would have. As it was, he clapped his son on the shoulder. “I trust you. When I told you earlier that some here didn’t, I did not mean me.”
“What if my lord really did send me to find you in order to act as his spy among your people?” Huw said.
“Did he?”
“No,” Huw said, indignant, despite the fact that he’d been the first to pose the question.
“Lord Cedric undoubtedly hoped that you would serve him in that capacity anyway.” Myrddin said, and at Huw’s stuttered protest held up a hand to stop him speaking. “Imagine you are a lord of Mercia and one of your men, one of the younger squires, tells you that his real father is someone other than the staunch companion of your youth. He’s a Welshman you’ve never met. The boy asks to seek this new father out. You know that the boy’s mother is Welsh. You understand how his two allegiances could pull him apart, regardless of how noble you believe him to be.”
“So you send him north.” Huw nodded. “And hope that he finds his father and that through that relationship, whether or not the boy wishes it, you discover something you didn’t know about King Arthur’s plans.”
“It is a sensible approach,” Myrddin said. “Logical too. It isn’t even deceitful.”
“If the boy comes home empty-handed, he has information about the disposition of Arthur’s men and the interior of Wales you hadn’t known before.” Huw paused. “I would have been eager to tell Lord Cedric all I’d learned.”
“It is the perfect plan,” Myrddin said. “Cedric risks only you, who have requested this mission. At best, he gains knowledge; at worst, he loses a good squire.”
“At worst.” Huw studied his boots.
“When I met Cedric,” Myrddin moved closer to Huw and took the brush so Huw would look at him, “he was surprised at first. But he recognized my name, and because of that, he freed me from Modred’s clutches.”
“So I would find you. So I would spy for him.”
Myrddin shook his head. “Cedric’s position in Wales is unstable. You cannot blame him for using whatever weapons come to hand, especially if he can wield them at so little cost to himself.”
This was too much for Huw. The knowledge that he’d been used by his lord stuck in his throat, and he couldn’t swallow it. He turned to Myrddin and stepped close, his face right in his father’s. He wasn’t angry as much as fierce. “Would you ever do that to me?”
“I would tell you,” Myrddin said, “and make you a willing party to my plans. I promise you that.”
Huw shot Myrddin an unreadable look from those pale eyes, nodded, and stepped away, back to his horse. Myrddin didn’t know if Huw was truly reassured or if he no longer knew what to believe.
“But I am your father,” Myrddin added. “In his present, precarious state, Cedric doesn’t have time for niceties. Don’t be too hard on him.”
Huw didn’t answer. Instead, he pawed through the saddle bags that rested on a hook in his horse’s stall. He took out a wad of cloth that looked like nothing more than a bandage yet to be used on an injured man. He unfolded it and held his hand out to Myrddin. A heavy gold cross on a thick chain lay in Huw’s palm. At the sight of it, Myrddin stepped closer, his breath catching in his throat.
“Christ’s bones, Huw, I’ve not seen that cross …” Myrddin’s voice died as he realized where he’d last seen it.
“Since you gave it to my mother,” Huw said. “I know.”
Myrddin reached out a finger and touched it, feeling the smooth metal and remembering when he’d given it to her. The cross had weighed on his neck, dangling between them as Myrddin had made love to her. He’d placed it around her neck instead. In his mind’s eye, he saw it settle between her breasts and warm there.
He’d spent the night in her bed, and then left in the early hours of the morning at the command of his king. At the time, he’d meant for Tegwan to keep it. Myrdd
in had been nineteen years old, in love and a romantic. It seemed appropriate to give her the one thing of value that he possessed, barring his sword.
“It was my mother’s. I’ve always assumed that her father gave it to her, although it has crossed my mind that she could have gotten it from mine.” He looked into Huw’s face. “It’s yours, now.”
“No.” Huw shook his head. “You’re still young enough to marry. Although my mother cherished it, I have many things from her, including sixteen years of memories. If you want to give it away again, give it to Nell.” He pushed his hand towards Myrddin, and Myrddin didn’t resist him. He lifted the cross from Huw’s palm by its chain, caressing the smooth links.
“Thank you.” Myrddin forced the words past the thickening in his throat. “My nurse gave this to me when I was twelve, believing that I should have something of my mother. She had kept it hidden all those years, knowing that if Madoc found it, he could claim it for himself as payment for giving me house room until I became a man.”
Myrddin slipped the chain over his head and tucked the cross under his shirt. It was an unfamiliar weight against his breastbone, but a comforting one.
“May it protect you wherever you go,” Huw said, “as it has me.”
*
“I dreamed last night.” Nell stood in the doorway of their room, gazing down on Myrddin who lay spread-eagled on his pallet. Huw remained in the hall where he would spend the night amongst the other squires and men-at-arms who were arriving in increasing numbers with their lords, in preparation for the meeting of the Welsh High Council.
Nell had asked Huw if he would prefer to share their room even though Myrddin no longer needed watching over. The appalled look on his face had prompted laughter from Nell. Myrddin and Nell had become more than friends, but what exactly they were to each other, Nell wasn’t quite sure. The rest of the castle assumed they knew, however, and if that meant she could continue to stay with him, then that was fine by her. Like the breeches she’d worn to Rhuddlan, the idea was freeing.
“I dream every night,” he said.
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