Medieval Romantic Legends

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “Some place safe,” Myrddin said. “Some place that one of us can stay until the other one gets there.”

  “A tavern?”

  “In what village?” he said. “If this goes bad, the Saxons will control the coasts, the border, and be pushing inward.”

  “Then an Abbey,” she said. “Cwmhir, where Arthur himself might be sleeping tonight.”

  Myrddin nodded. “That’s a wise choice. The monks are loyal to Arthur and always will be. Wait there, no matter how long it takes for me to arrive.”

  “And if you don’t find me?” A tear leaked from the corner of her eye. Myrddin wiped it away with his thumb.

  “I will find you.” Myrddin brushed his lips across hers.

  Unable to resist, she tightened her arms around his neck. “I want to see this through with you. I love you.”

  “You do?” Myrddin pulled back.

  She smiled through her tears. “For a man as old as the hills, you certainly are thick.”

  Myrddin stroked a second, stray tear from her cheek. “It’s going to be all right. When next we see the king, all will be forgiven. He’ll give me land on which I can settle with my new wife, and I can retire from fighting forever.”

  “Wife, is it?” she said. “A second ago you didn’t know how I felt about you!”

  “Ah, Nell,” Myrddin said. “You are my world. Marry me. Say you will.”

  “We may have no future—”

  “All the more reason. Say you love me,” he said. “I need to hear it again.”

  Nell buried her face in Myrddin’s shirt, her hands entwined in the cloth. “I love you, Myrddin.”

  “Marry me.” Myrddin threw off the blanket and got to his feet. He kicked at Huw who grunted and rolled over. “Right now.”

  “Now?” she said. “How are we going to do that?”

  “There’s a castle chaplain. We’ll wake him up.”

  “I’m supposed to be a nun!”

  Myrddin flapped a hand at her. “It’s a disguise. Everyone here knows that.”

  She stared at him, her mouth agape, and then she laughed. “You’re crazed.”

  “The king could die tomorrow; I could die tomorrow.” Myrddin reached down and shook Huw.

  Huw opened one eye. “Wha—?”

  “Get up,” Myrddin said. “Nell and I want to get married and we need you as a witness.”

  Huw was instantly alert. “Excellent.” He popped up from his pallet and onto his feet, pulling on his boots a second later. “But wait.” He paused. “As King Arthur’s men, we are under interdict. The priest can’t bless you.”

  “The chaplain’s is sympathetic,” Nell said. “If we ask him, he’ll do it anyway.”

  “I know we’ve no contract—” Myrddin swung around to look at Nell, the first sign of hesitation in his eyes.

  Nell laughed. “We’ve no money, Myrddin. No possessions other than what we stand up in. No family other than Huw. The priest will make it right.”

  After rousing one of Huw’s squire-friends as witness, they filed into the chapel on the top floor of the keep.

  “What’s this about a wedding?” The priest came into the room, buckling the belt to cinch his tunic at the waist and shrugging into his cloak of office.

  “Nell and I would like you to bless our marriage,” Myrddin said.

  The priest took in Nell’s loose hair and green dress which she’d worn under her habit. “Have you asked her father?”

  Momentarily at a loss for words, Nell looked at Myrddin and then back to the priest. “My father is dead. No one is alive to gainsay us.”

  The priest’s face turned very serious. “Do you have the king’s permission, my lord Myrddin?”

  “King Arthur told me to find myself a wife, and he would give me land to support her in the new year,” Myrddin said, praying it was still true.

  The priest nodded. “That’s very good. I will bless you, even if some will say that I can’t see to my parishioners in this fashion.”

  “Those men are not Welsh,” Myrddin said. “Even the Bishop of St. Asaph refused to put out his candles. If it matters to you, we can ask again for a blessing when the interdict is lifted.”

  “If the interdict is lifted.” The priest grumbled under his breath and then said something about, “Upstart half-Saxon telling me how to do my job.”

  Nell and Myrddin exchanged a look, and both smiled. The priest placed a cross about his neck, turned back to them, and lifted his hands to the heavens to begin his prayer. Myrddin moved his hands to Nell’s waist to pull her closer, bending to touch his forehead to hers.

  After the priest finished speaking, Myrddin lifted the chain that held his mother’s cross and settled it around Nell’s neck. Surprised, she looked down at it, and then up into his eyes. “Myrddin—”

  “Sshh.” He put a finger to her lips and then recited, “For as long as there’s wind in the mountains; for as long as there’s salt in the sea; for as long as rain falls on these green hills; I will stand with thee.” It was the native ritual with which they’d both grown up. “Nell ferch Morgan, I claim thee as my wife.”

  Nell brought her hands up, one in each of his, and Myrddin clasped them to his chest. They stood close, breathing each other in, as the priest called down the blessing they wanted but didn’t need.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  11 December 537 AD

  The storm hadn’t lessened by dawn. Myrddin lay on his back, listening to the wind howling around the castle, not wanting to face the morning. The king couldn’t see the chasm opening at his feet, but Myrddin had already fallen into it and, with only ten hours between now and the rendezvous, there was no way he and Nell were going to get everything done that needed doing.

  “It’s time,” Nell said from the doorway to their room. As they’d agreed, she wore her habit. That was going to be a surprise to the priest if he saw her before they left. “Huw’s got the horses ready.”

  “I’m coming.” Now that Myrddin was awake, he noted the stamping of the two dozen horses in the castle bailey, just on the other side of the wall. “How did you sleep?”

  “Did I sleep?” She smiled. “When this is over, they’ll be plenty of time for sleeping.”

  Myrddin got himself upright, kissed Nell on his way out the door, and walked with her into the bailey. He had some hope that the snow wouldn’t be falling quite as hard as yesterday, but once they left the shelter of the castle walls and were again on the road to Buellt, the wind picked up. It shrieked down the canyon through which the road ran and into their faces.

  They bent forward into the storm, cloaks clutched and shoulders hunched. Myrddin pulled his cap more securely over his ears and his scarf tighter around his neck. He’d tied his helmet to his saddlebags. He would put it on only in great need, since metal and cold were synonymous in a snowstorm.

  As Cedric and Myrddin had agreed, they said goodbye to Cedric’s men at a crossroads. The company turned northwest to St. Cannen’s church where they would wait for Arthur—or for Myrddin once he’d finished his business with Edgar. Nell, Huw, and Myrddin carried on the last miles alone.

  Myrddin had hoped to have easily reached this point the day before. He’d wanted plenty of time to determine the lay of the land, even if it meant sleeping in a ditch or an abandoned barn last night. But they’d run out of time for maneuvering. The eight miles to Buellt took them long hours of hard slogging, pushing on past the point they wanted to stop and refusing to give up. Thus, noon had come and gone by the time they reached the castle.

  “We have to find a way to talk to Edgar,” Nell said as they approached the gates, which rose up black before them. Agravaine had a small army outside the walls, but the encampment showed no signs of imminent movement, which was a great relief.

  “We’re walking in like blind men,” Myrddin said. “I don’t like it.”

  “Aww. This is what makes it fun,” Huw said, parodying Ifan and trying to cheer up his dour elders.

  “No questi
on of that, son,” Myrddin said. “Go on, then. Your face and Cedric’s colors can get us inside.”

  Myrddin hoped the garrison and its leaders were so busy with the threat of Arthur’s approaching army that they’d not question Myrddin’s presence. In contrast to Huw, he wore a deep green surcoat that claimed allegiance to no lord. Nell said his tunic brought out the green in his hazel eyes. It occurred to Myrddin that, if it pleased her so much, he would wear only this color from now on, even if it clashed with Arthur’s crimson and white—and if he still had leave to wear those colors.

  As they hoped, at such a busy hour of the day and with all the coming and going through the gatehouse, few marked their presence, and those who did were appropriately dismissive. The man-at-arms who allowed them through the gate looked them over and then waved a hand to let them pass.

  Given that the snow still fell unrelentingly, a man would have had to be pretty hardened to turn away a nun and her escorts—one of whom wore Cedric’s crest—under those conditions. They found housing for their horses in the sprawling stable complex and then made their way to the great hall.

  “This needs to be quick if we are to reach the church in time,” Myrddin said. “We are already too late to warn the king before he reaches it.”

  “That’s what Cedric’s men are for,” Nell said.

  “I spoke with a stable boy,” Huw said. “He told me that no one has seen Edgar since he arrived. Could he have returned to Wigmore Castle or left already for Brecon?”

  “No. If he’d gone to Brecon, we would have passed him on the road. Edgar is here.” Nell tipped her head to indicate a man-at-arms walking from the barracks to the stables. “Those are his colors.”

  “I would have to agree,” Myrddin said. “Modred finally approved Edgar’s inheritance. He’ll want to be in the thick of things to emphasize that Modred chose right in restoring his lands to him.”

  “Which is why we don’t think Edgar ever intended to betray Modred in the first place,” Nell said. “Or if he did for a fleeting moment, he certainly doesn’t now. There’s too much at stake for him to risk Modred’s disapproval.”

  “But then why isn’t he in evidence?” Huw said. “We have to find him—for Lord Cedric’s sake, if not for King Arthur’s.”

  The rescue of Cedric had done nothing to dampen Huw’s admiration of his former lord, and Myrddin couldn’t blame him. What most concerned Cedric was his own power, but you had to admire the man for making it this far, given what had happened to his father at Modred’s hands.

  Like the bailey, the great hall was full of soldiers. Huw led the way to a spot on the end of one table. But before they could sit, a jovial shout split the air.

  “Huw!” A young man rose from his position on the other side of the hall and walked towards them.

  Huw smiled, somewhat sickly Myrddin thought, and held out his hand. The two grasped forearms, and then Huw introduced him. “Father, this is Peter, one of my companions growing up. Lord Cedric sent him to Agravaine as a squire several years ago.” Huw turned to Peter. “I’m glad to see you are well. You’ve found a place here.”

  “That I have.” Peter slapped Huw on the back. “Come. Eat!” Then, Nell’s habit registered, and he turned fully to her, his face flushed with embarrassment at his lapse. “Madam.” He gave a slight bow. “Might I be of some service to you?”

  Nell stuck her nose in the air and sniffed. “I wish to speak with Edgar of Wigmore. On a private matter.”

  At the mention of Edgar’s name, Peter reacted swiftly, moving closer and waving his hand at her in a shushing movement. “You cannot see him! Don’t say his name.”

  Huw studied his friend. “Why? What’s happened?”

  “Lord Agravaine believes him a traitor to Lord Modred!” Peter said, relishing his role in imparting the news. “Supposedly, Edgar is unwell and confined to his bed at the top of the keep, but in truth, my lord leaves men to guard his door.”

  Nell opened her mouth to speak but Myrddin put a hand on her shoulder to stop her. “Thank you, Peter. We appreciate the news.”

  Myrddin caught Huw’s eye, and he tipped his head at his son. Catching on, Huw said, “I’m starving. I’ll sit with you, and we can catch up.”

  “For a short while only. I’ll be riding out soon.” Peter winked. “We have a mission.”

  Huw shot Myrddin a look of pure dismay, and Myrddin caught his arm before Peter could lead him away. “Watch your back, son.”

  “I can do this, Father,” he said. “Trust me.”

  Myrddin nodded, reluctance sickening his gut, but he let him go. As soon as Peter and Huw had turned away, Myrddin steered Nell towards the back of the hall, to the stairwell that led down to the kitchen or up to the apartments above.

  “That boy is one of the men Agravaine is sending to the church,” she said.

  “I know,” Myrddin said. “We can’t stop them now. Given that we’ve made it here at this hour, Cedric’s men should have reached the clearing too. The king will have allies, and it won’t be the uneven fight for which Agravaine is hoping.”

  “But what are we going to do?”

  “We’re going to speak to Edgar,” Myrddin said. “Agravaine distrusts him and that’s good for King Arthur. Then we’re going to get out of here as quickly as possible. If Modred’s dungeon was bad, the one here would be catastrophic.”

  Nobody stopped them from climbing the stairs to the rooms above, although when they reached the landing on the second floor, intending to continue to the third, a guard confronted them. He dropped a pike to block the way, looking apologetic once he took in Nell’s apparel.

  Myrddin had to give Nell credit. Bringing her along on this journey dressed as a nun had been one of her better ideas.

  “I have orders to let nobody pass.”

  Nell opted for her cloak of meekness, rather than authority; all Myrddin could do was admire it. “Please, sir. I had word that Edgar requested someone with whom to pray. Since it is uncomfortable for me in the hall, the priest sent me here. My former husband served the old lord before both of their deaths. I believe Lord Edgar would want to see me.”

  The man gaped at her. “I’ve had no orders—” He stumbled over the words.

  Myrddin looked at him with his best how foolish do you want to be? stare.

  “Yes, Madam.” The guard recovered enough to shrug his shoulders. “Tell the two men on the door that Walter sent you.”

  “Thank you,” Nell said, befuddling him further with an uncharacteristic giggle, and moved past the guard, Myrddin hard on her heels.

  “You simpered at him,” Myrddin said as they circled the stairs to the uppermost rooms.

  “It worked, didn’t it?”

  Myrddin couldn’t argue with her, although surely it was unbecoming conduct in a nun, not to mention his wife. He shook his head and remembered Ifan’s laughter. Myrddin with a wife. He prayed they’d have more than just this one day together.

  In short order, they arrived at the landing of the third floor. Two guards occupied the space. A ladder to the battlements rose from the middle of the floor. A locked door, barred from the outside, lay behind it.

  “She’s here to speak with Lord Edgar,” Myrddin said. “I was to tell you that Walter sent us.”

  One of the men sneered, but he didn’t argue. He peered through the narrow window in the locked door. “Got a nun to see you.” Myrddin couldn’t hear the reply, but the man nodded. “Go on in.”

  Nell smiled and tipped her head. “Thank you.”

  The guard unbarred the door, and she slipped past him. Myrddin made to follow, but the guard stopped him with a hand to his chest before he could pass through the doorway.

  “You stay here.” He closed the door.

  Myrddin had expected as much. He stepped to the side and leaned against the wall, ready for when Nell and Edgar came through the door—if that was indeed what was going to happen. He would find out soon enough. He’d caught a glimpse of Edgar before the guard had blo
cked the way. He’d been facing away from them, staring out the lone window, which was located high up in the northwestern wall.

  Although it couldn’t have been far into the afternoon, the sky was dark, less because the sun was setting than because of the storm clouds that had been their constant companion for the last four days. Blessedly, the rate of falling snow had lessened over the last hour since they’d arrived.

  The moments stretched out in silence. The guards returned to their table and their dicing, and Myrddin waited. He couldn’t make out the conversation beyond the door, just low murmurs between Nell and Edgar. Then the voices stopped, booted feet paced the floor, and a strong hand banged on the door.

  “We’re done here,” Edgar said.

  Earlier, Myrddin and Nell had agreed that if Edgar said those words, then she believed he was on King Arthur’s side, and Myrddin was to do what he could to facilitate his release.

  The guards looked up, surprised they were needed again so quickly. One stood and came to the door. The other turned to Myrddin. “Our lord is cleansed of sin, is he?”

  “It seems so.” Myrddin returned his smirk.

  Myrddin stayed where he was beside the door frame, seemingly unconcerned but inwardly bracing himself for action. The guard unbarred the door and pulled on it. As it began to open, Myrddin moved. Shoving his left shoulder into the gap between the door and the frame, he put the full force of his weight behind it to slam the top edge of the door into the guard’s forehead.

  The man stumbled backwards. Before he could recover, Myrddin came around the door, hit him with the heel of his right hand and, with a swipe of his right foot, had the guard’s legs out from under him. The man fell hard on his back and cracked his head on the wooden floor.

  Meanwhile, Edgar had bounded out of the room. The second guard had tried to pull out his sword but was still fumbling with it when Edgar drove Nell’s knife into his chest to the hilt. With two downed men between them, Edgar and Myrddin faced each other. Myrddin gave the former prisoner a long look, taking in his short-cropped dark hair, narrow face and black eyes, which, like Cedric’s, gave nothing away.