The Oaken Door (The Lion of Wales Book 2)

by Sarah Woodbury

  “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 Nine

  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. Myrddin 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.

  “Will you tell me about them?” Nell would have asked him about his dreams days ago, but he’d been ill, and she almost hadn’t wanted him to share them with her because once he did, they’d both be laid bare. While they’d admitted the truth to each other, what that truth entailed, and what they were going to do about it, wasn’t at all clear.

  “Do I have a choice?” Myrddin said, and then he smiled, taking the sting out of his words. He gestured to Nell with one hand.

  She closed the door behind her, and then walked to the pallet on which Myrddin lay and knelt on the end of it.

  Myrddin pushed himself upright and braced his back against the wall. “All right.” He scrubbed at his face with both hands. “Talk to me.”

  “My dreams have changed.”

  “Have they?” he said. “How?”

  “Except for that first instance, I’ve always fought as you when I dream. But since before you went to Rhuddlan, it’s been different. Sometimes you’re not even there. Last night, more men filled the clearing than before, and there were no archers. In fact—” she paused, trying to think how to say this, “—although you were there, you didn’t die.”

  “Really.” Myrddin dropped his hands to his lap. “And that’s different?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Certainly, I have no interest in dying just yet.” They sat silent for a moment, before Myrddin said, “I don’t just want to save King Arthur because I want to save Wales—I have this odd idea that if I save him, I save myself.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with not wanting to die by a Saxon’s sword,” Nell said.

  “In my dream last night, I didn’t have Cadfarch,” Myrddin said. “That might be the first time. And since just before I met you, I haven’t worn a mustache.”

  Nell’s eyes widened. “And that’s my fault! But I didn’t know!”

  “No,” Myrddin said. “Only because I didn’t tell you, and yet ...”

  “Does that mean that the actions we take in the real world change our dreams, which in turn indicates a new course in the future?” Nell said. “Does it mean we’re making progress?”

  “What is progress?” Myrddin said. “We have no idea if everything we’re doing right now is exactly what we need to do to ensure that King Arthur dies on December 11th. There’s no reason to think otherwise.”

  “Except that if King Arthur’s death is inevitable, why dream?”

  Myrddin snorted under his breath. “You’re assuming these dreams don’t come from the devil.”

  “Oh, yes,” Nell said. “I thought it at first, of course. I told my father of the vision the first time I had it. I ran home, screaming of the battle I’d witnessed and the dead men. Once past the clearing, the world reverted to what it had been. But when my father searched, he found nothing by the river. He was afraid for me, then.”

  “Did you ever tell a priest?”

  “Did you?”

  Myrddin gave a sharp laugh. “No.”

  “So what did you do?” Nell said. “Up until now, I mean.”

  “I came to serve the king as soon as I was able,” Myrddin said. “But otherwise, I ignored the dreams. I drank.”

  “You drank.” Nell strove to keep her voice even. “And what good was that supposed to do?”

  “Goddamn it, I don’t know!” Myrddin said. “Who am I to change the world? Who am I to have these visions?”

  Nell bit her lip as she looked at him, realizing she’d pressed too hard. “You’re Myrddin. Why not you?”

  “What about you, then?” Myrddin said, still angry. “You were doing no more than I. Less, in fact. You were leaving Wales.”

  Nell looked down at her hands folded in her lap and then back up at Myrddin. “No, I wasn’t.”

  “That’s what you told me.”

  “I lied.” Nell forced herself not to look away from Myrddin’s face.

  “You lied.” He mimicked the flatness in her tone.

  Nell nodded. “I was going to Rhuddlan, as I said, but my intent was to enter the castle.”

  “For what purpose?” Myrddin said. “As a spy?”

  Nell shrugged. “Not exactly.” She glanced away, unable to maintain eye contact. Now that it came to it, perhaps he’d find the truth far worse than his basest suspicions. She felt his gaze on her, and still she wouldn’t look at him. “I wasn’t a nun anymore, you know.”

  “Christ!” Myrddin leaned forward to grab her chin. “You weren’t going there as a spy! You were going as—as a—as a whore!”

  There it was, the truth at last. Nell pulled away, pummeled by Myrddin’s horrified stare. She shrugged again. “It was an idea.”

  “My God! What were you thinking?”

  “I’ll tell you what I was thinking!” Nell said, her anger flaring. “The solution to our problems certainly wasn’t to drink myself into a stupor every night. I was going to get close to Modred! And kill him if I could! It might even have been easy—just a knife in the back after I refilled his goblet. I might not even have had to sell myself to do it.”

  Myrddin’s mouth was open as he stared her.

  Nell gritted her teeth, determined to tell him everything. “My sisters had already suffered worse at the hands of Wulfere’s soldiers. It was the least I could do! And it was the only thing I could think of that I could do to change the future.”

  Myrddin leaned forward and gripped her arms. “You must have realized that Modred’s men would have killed you immediately afterwards.”

  “Of course.”

  “Christ!” Myrddin blasphemed again. “That was the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard!” He shook her. Once. While she glared at him, trying to hang on to her anger even though tears pricked at her eyes. She opened her mouth to speak but then he put one finger to her lips to stop her, his voice softening. “And the bravest.”

  With that, she couldn’t hold back the tears. They spilled out the corners of her eyes and down her cheeks. Myrddin made a ‘tsk’ noise from between his teeth and pulled her to him. Nell wrapped her arms around his waist and sobbed into his chest.

  “Sweet Mary, mother of God, that you would think that was your only choice,” Myrddin said. “You would have died.”

 
“That was, in part, the point,” Nell said. “By then I would have done anything. Anything to stop the dreams. Anything to stop King Arthur from meeting Edgar by the Cam River.”

  “Thank God I found you. I wish I’d done so long ago.”

  “You didn’t know of me,” she said. “Better that I’d tried to find you. Silly of me not to think of it. I don’t know why I didn’t.”

  “I’ll be damned if I’ll ever bow to a Saxon lord again!”

  The fierce tones of Lord Gruffydd carried loudly through the wall. Nell froze in Myrddin’s arms. As Gruffydd’s words sank in, they eased back from each other. Nell wished she could see right through the wall to the other side.

  “We’ve had little choice—” another voice said.

  “He’s talking to Cai,” Nell said.

  “You have had a choice!” Gruffydd hammered at him. “You would rather see Wales fall under the Saxon boot than lose an acre of what you possess? Even if Modred wins this war, you have no guarantee he will confirm you as Lord of Gwynedd. Look what has happened to Edgar of Wigmore!” Gruffydd sounded so much like Arthur, it was as if he’d become a different person.

  “That’s just one instance—”

  Gruffydd cut off Cai again. “One instance that we are to take as an example for all of us! If he can do this to his loyal cousin, the man who stood by him through every war this century, he can do it to any of us.”

  “You’ve stood at Modred’s side many times,” Cai said, still defiant and forceful. “Why not now? Why not this time?”

  “Because he betrayed me with my wife!”

  The silence in both rooms was deafening. Gruffydd had married a much younger woman after the death of Owain’s mother. His confession had Nell holding her breath, one hand clenching and unclenching around Myrddin’s arm. Surely they must realize that the walls had ears?

  Finally, Cai spoke again. “How do you know?”

  “She told me that he’d asked for her. When I confronted him, he laughed. He admitted he’d taken her.” Now, Gruffydd lowered his voice, forcing Nell to lean in to hear the conversation better. She pressed her ear to the wall that separated the two rooms. “He thinks he controls me.”