Medieval Romantic Legends

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Geraint spoke softly in Myrddin’s ear. “He belongs to Cai’s own guard, from the former garrison at Denbigh. Do not forget that we cannot trust this man.”

  As if I could.

  Cai said nothing, merely toed the dead man’s heel and shot a glance at Arthur, who didn’t notice it, as he still watched Owain.

  “What do you want from me?” Owain had his eyes on the king.

  “From you, nothing,” Arthur said. “For Wales, peace. That is all I have ever wanted for her. We’ll leave you to say goodbye to your father.”

  As Arthur moved towards the door, Myrddin reached for Nell’s hand and led her away, his vision etched with a picture of Gruffydd, his head in his hands, kneeling beside the failing body of his son.

  Chapter Eighteen

  27 November 537 AD

  “You’re the last person I’d have expected to see here, Myrddin,” Gareth said. “When was the last time you darkened the door of a church?”

  Myrddin half-turned to look at Gareth, who continued smirking. Myrddin opted not to mention to Gareth that he set foot in a church every night in his dreams, on the way to dying.

  They were standing at the rear of the packed Church of St. Deiniol to honor the date of the church’s dedication. They might be in the middle of a war and all of Wales might be under interdict, but Arthur ap Uther lived a pious life. It was a holy day, and all of Garth Celyn had turned out to celebrate it.

  It had been an amusing scene, in fact, when the king had arrived at the church. Neither Brother Rhys, who ran the church, nor Brother Llywelyn, who led the adjacent monastery, had been prepared for the crowd that had ridden the three miles from Garth Celyn and descended on Bangor on a Friday afternoon in order to celebrate the service before sunset.

  “What is this? What is this?” Rhys had run around the sanctuary in a panic, unable to waylay either the king or Anian, who’d accompanied him. Because Rhys then refused to hold the service, Anian himself had ordered the candles on the altar lit.

  Now, they were two hours into the service and Myrddin was tired of standing. But as was increasingly the case, he wasn’t going anywhere without Nell. He lifted his chin, indicating to Gareth where she stood with bowed head, Huw beside her. A few feet beyond stood Cai. He’d found religion, apparently, and no longer left King Arthur’s side. If that wasn’t irritating enough, Arthur had reminded the company a dozen times these last three days how brilliantly Cai had fought. To Myrddin’s mind, it was as if he was spitting into the wind, daring the fates to disagree with him.

  “I see,” Gareth said. “Do you trust your son to see her safely back to Garth Celyn?”

  “Of course.” Myrddin looked at Gareth more closely. “Why?”

  “All may not be as it seems.”

  Myrddin snorted under his breath. He could only agree with that assessment. He despised standing in the same room with so many traitors. While Rhys had disappeared, refusing to countenance the use of the church under these circumstances, Brother Llywelyn had stayed, hovering on the margins of the crowd as if to prevent someone from stealing the candlesticks. It was insulting.

  “Tell your son you’ll be staying behind,” Gareth said.

  Myrddin nodded. “Yes, my lord.”

  Eventually, the service ended, at which point Myrddin caught Huw’s eye as he approached with Nell on his arm. “I have a task to do. I’ll see you back at the castle.”

  “That will be fine,” Nell said. “One of the villagers from Bangor tells me her niece is laboring with some difficulty. Huw can see me there and then home when it’s over.”

  Huw nodded, obliging as always, although his eyes on his father were intent. Myrddin clapped him on the shoulder to indicate all was well and watched them leave, heading towards the horses with the rest of the crowd, the bulk of which was easily visible from the dozen torches that lit up the clearing in front of the church steps.

  King Arthur was among them, bareheaded, half a head taller than most of the men. He mounted his horse and rode away, flanked on one side by Gruffydd and on the other by Bedwyr.

  By Bedwyr?

  “You note it too?” Gareth looked past Myrddin to the king’s entourage. “His mistake was to be too attentive. The king may think nothing of his absence—in truth may even be relieved to ride without him—but it’s glaring to me who has tailed our traitorous prince these last three days.”

  “What is it you suspect?” Myrddin said.

  “Cai wanted to be here alone—he said as much to King Arthur when he broached the subject of the holy day. Cai discouraged King Arthur from coming—but Arthur refused to take the hint.”

  “So all of Garth Celyn came. No wonder Rhys and Llywelyn were taken aback,” Myrddin said. “Does King Arthur know you’re spying on his brother?”

  Gareth snorted a laugh. “No. He would not countenance it. But I do what is best for Wales. Come.”

  They re-entered the church, slipping back into the nave to wait for the last of the parishioners to leave. Anian hadn’t extinguished the candles he’d lit and they flickered on the altar, moments from going out. Eventually, all was dark and quiet.

  “There’s no one here,” Myrddin said.

  “Isn’t there?” Gareth said. “Cai hasn’t left the church.”

  “Could he have used a different exit?”

  “There’s only the one,” Gareth said. “I suspect he’s in the belfry, if only because I saw Llywelyn’s skirts disappearing up the stairs earlier.”

  With a tip of his head, Gareth indicated a curtain on the northern wall. Myrddin realized he’d never looked behind it, never thought to. Together with Gareth, he poked his head past it, observed the shadowed stairs, and hastily retreated at the sound of voices above them.

  “Hide,” Gareth said.

  Myrddin slipped behind one of the limestone statues that lined the walls of the nave, an older one, but with a large base. Gareth spun on his heel, and at first Myrddin thought he was looking for a similar spot for himself. But he wasn’t. Instead he waited, planted in the center of the floor with his hands on his hips.

  Three men came through the curtain, Llywelyn in the lead. He lit the way with a lantern, which threw shadows on the wall that separated the nave from the foyer. Because they spoke among themselves, distracted by their own issues, the three men were almost upon Gareth before Llywelyn halted abruptly.

  “You!”

  “Cousin. I thought I’d find you here among your betters.” Gareth nodded his head at Cai, who stepped out from behind Llywelyn.

  “What do you want?” Llywelyn said.

  “I knew you had to be up to something,” Gareth said. “And now I know what it is.”

  “Just kill him,” the third man said. Myrddin didn’t recognize either his voice or his shape. Nor did he dare stir from behind his statue to get a better look.

  “Ahh,” Gareth said. “My dear Agravaine.” And Myrddin understood that Gareth said the man’s name for his benefit. “You’re the secret they’ve been keeping. King Arthur might rationalize a meeting with my slippery cousin, but you—you he wouldn’t forgive.”

  “Which is why we need to kill him,” Agravaine said.

  Gareth spread his arms wide. “Go ahead. I suspect the consequences might be greater than you know.” Myrddin’s hand went to his sword, his stomach churning and his head spinning with shock. If he’d expected anything, it wasn’t this.

  Agravaine made to step forward, but Cai put out an arm to stop him. “He’s Modred’s. You can’t touch him.”

  “You tell me false!” Agravaine’s tone dripped with disdain and outrage. “He can’t be.”

  “He was spying for Modred as early as 532,” Cai said. “I know because I was at Modred’s court then.”

  “Why didn’t I know of this?”

  “Perhaps because you don’t know everything! Be quiet and let me think.” A pause, and then Cai spoke again, directing his words at Gareth, who was the only man he appeared to view as more-or-less an equal. “What do y
ou want?”

  “Assurances,” Gareth said.

  “Don’t listen to h—” Llywelyn said.

  Cai cut him off. “Shut up, monk.” And then to Gareth. “You have them. What is your concern? That Modred won’t like what we do?”

  “More that you’ll muck it up, just like the attack on Garth Celyn,” Gareth said.

  “That was Owain’s plan,” Cai said. “He’s always been long on ideas and short on follow through.”

  Llywelyn sneered. “It would have worked but for this Myrddin. I told you we should’ve removed him sooner.”

  “He’ll be taken care of before too long,” Cai said. “Agravaine has it in hand.”

  “Good to know as Myrddin’s a nosy bastard,” Gareth said.

  “Are we done here? I have a boat to catch.” Dismissing his fellows with a wave, Agravaine strode towards the exit and flung open the door. The cold night air blew over Myrddin, and he heard the staccato of rain on the slate roof of the church.

  Llywelyn and Cai followed, though Cai paused on the doorstep in order to direct a few last words to Gareth. “We’ll speak later.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  The door swung home, leaving the foyer completely silent but for the drip of water from the roof. Myrddin was loath to rise from his hiding place lest they return—and even more reluctant to face Gareth.

  “You heard some things I would have preferred you hadn’t,” Gareth said, into the quiet.

  “Does King Arthur know your role in this?” Myrddin finally stood and stepped from behind the statue.

  “He knows Modred thinks I spy for him,” Gareth said. “He doesn’t know that I once truly did.”

  “Am I to believe you remain loyal to King Arthur now? After what I heard?”

  “It’s the truth.”

  Myrddin contemplated Gareth’s face. He seemed sincere, but Myrddin felt manipulated. “Admittedly, you could have come alone and confronted them without me. It would have been safer for you.”

  “But not safer for the king,” Gareth said. “Knowing that Cai and Agravaine are allies, I cannot now believe that he should go south. They may well be using Edgar for their own ends. You should know, in addition, that Modred confirmed Edgar in his inheritance a few days ago.”

  “Cnych!” Myrddin said.

  “I share your sentiments,” Gareth said. “I brought you as witness because I found what I was looking for, but I am not in a position to speak to the king of the dangers that face him in the coming weeks.”

  Myrddin stared at him. “What? Why ever not?”

  “I play a dangerous game, Myrddin,” he said. “Modred trusts me; Cai trusts me. So does my king. Few could have played this role so well for so long. But if I speak to King Arthur of Cai’s betrayal, I throw all to the fates.”

  “You’re afraid,” Myrddin said.

  “Cautious,” Gareth said. “What if Cai discovers I’ve deceived him? I will have lost all ability to serve Arthur effectively.”

  “So you leave it to me?”

  Gareth waved a hand dismissively. “You’re one of his household knights. Your loyalty is without question. He will listen to you.”

  “I pray you’re right.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  28 November 537 AD

  “He threw me out of his office, Nell.” Myrddin paced around the work table in the center of her herb hut. He and Gareth had ridden home, and Myrddin had gone straight to Arthur, leaving Gareth drinking in the hall as if nothing untoward had happened.

  Myrddin’s subsequent conversation with King Arthur had been short, lasting only as long as it took for Myrddin to explain what he’d seen. Arthur had shouted Myrddin down before the words were half out of his mouth. Even Geraint, who was witness, was taken aback by Arthur’s rare display of temper.

  “Sit, Myrddin,” Nell said, “before you upset all my tinctures and salves. Besides, it’s very late. You’d do better to sleep than think.”

  Myrddin sat but was on his feet again an instant later, too restless to stay still. “He and I have always maintained a good relationship, and now he thinks I’m a traitor.”

  “Tell me what happened again.”

  “I told him that Cai, Llywelyn, and Agravaine had met in the belfry at Bangor. I told him that I believed the letter from Edgar a trap and asked if I could go in his stead or, as an alternative, travel south to Brecon as Lord Cedric suggested. Arthur ignored my request, instead asking if I knew what the meeting had been about. I told him I didn’t know. He asked if I’d actually seen Agravaine’s face. I hadn’t, and since I couldn’t reveal Gareth’s role in all this, the king instantly disbelieved my whole story. He didn’t want to believe it.

  “And then Cai came into the office, that incessant sneer on his face, before he wiped it clean and denied everything.”

  Nell moved to stand beside him, her hand on his shoulder. “The king loves his brother, all reason aside. And without Gareth, you have no proof. This isn’t your fault.”

  Myrddin grunted his disagreement and disgust, moving towards the brazier to raise the fire. When he’d left the hut earlier, he’d banked the coals so they’d continue to burn low, but he’d been gone so long they were almost out. Soon, Myrddin had the coals glowing again. The hut was small enough that the heat from it would make some headway against the cold.

  The activity calmed him, and he found his shoulders sagging with his acceptance of his failure. “I must return to the hall and speak to Geraint. I cannot leave it there.”

  Now it was Nell’s turn to pace, and she circled her table. The light glinted off the blonde highlights in the wisps of hair that escaped her coif. Myrddin had never noticed them before; he knew he’d never seen anyone as beautiful as she. He’d lost track of his sensible decision to keep her at arm’s length. It sucked the air from his lungs to realize how much she still kept inside her own head. He could only hope that she, too, loved despite herself.

  At last she stopped in front of him. “Tell Geraint everything.”

  He studied her face. “Everything?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I’ll come with you if you think it will help.”

  “Not yet. Let me try again alone first.” He moved away, ready to leave and glad to have the decision made. But Nell caught his arm before he’d gone two steps.

  “What you did was very brave.”

  “It had to be done.” He turned back to her. “Time is too short to waste.” He started to pull away but she didn’t let him go, tugging him closer and forcing him to focus on her again.

  “You be careful,” she said. “I told you the only way to prevent myself from weeping was to laugh, but I can’t face the coming weeks with laughter.”

  He looked down at her, seeing the concern in her eyes. “I lived thirty-six years with nobody to worry about me. I can take care of myself.”

  “I know.” She stepped closer, placing her hands flat against his chest. “And is that what you want?”

  Myrddin didn’t look away. His hands found her waist and rested there, one on each hip. He looked into her eyes. “I’ve never had a choice before.” He leaned forward and kissed Nell’s forehead, his lips lingering in her hair.

  “I shouldn’t have let you go into battle without an answer,” she said.

  Their faces were inches apart, hers upturned looking into his. Time and silence stretched out as Myrddin stared down at her. Then without a conscious decision on his part, he brought his lips down on hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and he pulled her tight against him.

  “God, Nell.” He forced himself to take a breath. “I don’t want to lose you.”

  “You won’t,” she said. “No matter what happens, you won’t.”

  His arms encircled her. He didn’t want to let her go, but knew he had to. He groaned, his forehead to hers, and his desire for her a deep ache within him. “I must see Geraint.” He eased away.

  “I know that too.” She allowed him to lift her hands from his chest. He squeezed them
once, and then left the hut, heading down the garden walkway to the kitchen, his mind full of Nell.

  Halfway there, Geraint stepped out of the darkness. “What is it that you cannot leave?”

  Myrddin pulled up short.

  “The king leaves for Powys in three days. I must know what it is you aren’t telling me.” Geraint’s tone was forceful, but not menacing. Urgent, rather.

  “Over here.” Myrddin glanced around to make sure that nobody had followed him and that Nell had shut the door to the herb hut. It wasn’t so much that he didn’t want her to overhear their conversation, but rather he didn’t want her to suffer for his failings if this went as awry as the conversation in Arthur’s office.

  “Speak,” Geraint said, once they’d retreated to the far corner of the kitchen garden where the side of the keep met the garden wall.

  “If you’re worried that Modred turned me to his side in his dungeon at Rhuddlan,” Myrddin said, “that is not the case.”

  “I have no such concern,” Geraint said. “If you’d been bought, there’d be signs.”

  The compulsion to tell the truth had Myrddin pressing his lips together to keep the words back. And then, for better or worse, he gave up the fight. “I fear for the king’s life because I already know the future. I know what will happen by the Cam River if he goes to meet Edgar of Wigmore.”

  Geraint stared at him. “What in Christ’s holy name is that supposed to mean?”

  “I’ve seen it,” Myrddin said. “I’ve seen him fall, stood over his body to protect him, and fallen myself. I’ve seen all Wales weep.”

  In the darkness, Myrddin couldn’t read Geraint’s expression, but he stood so still that if not for the light coming through the open kitchen door he would have been indistinguishable from the wall at his back. The scar that slashed across his forehead stood out white against his darker skin.

  “No.” Geraint shook his head. “You can’t know what you’re saying.”

  Myrddin stepped away, rethinking his approach. “Come, my lord. A cup of wine wouldn’t go amiss.”