The Winter King Part 22

"You want Gorfyddyd to win?" I asked, appalled.

He sighed. "Derfel, Derfel," he said, 'you're so like Arthur. You think the world is simple, that good is good and bad is bad, that up is up and down is down. You ask what I want? I tell you what I want. I want the Thirteen Treasures, and I shall use them to bring the G.o.ds back to Britain and then I shall command them to restore Britain to the blessed condition it enjoyed before the Romans came. No more Christians' he pointed a finger at Galahad 'and no Mithraists either' he pointed at me 'just the people of the G.o.ds in the country of the G.o.ds. That, Derfel, is what I want."

"Then what of Arthur?" I asked.

"What of him? He's a man, he's got a sword, he can look after himself. Fate is inexorable, Derfel. If fate means Arthur to win this war then it doesn't matter if Gorfyddyd ma.s.ses the armies of the world against him. If I had nothing better to do then I confess I would help Arthur, because I like him, but fate has decreed that I am an old man, increasingly feeble and possessed of a bladder like a leaking waters king and I must therefore husband my waning energies." He proclaimed this pathetic state in a vigorous tone.

"Even I cannot win Arthur's wars, heal Nimue's mind and discover the Treasures all at the same time. Of course, if I find that saving Arthur's life helps me find the Treasures, then be a.s.sured I shall come to the battle. But otherwise?" He shrugged, as though the war was of no importance to him. Nor, I suppose, was it. He turned to the small window and peered at the three stakes that had been erected in the compound. "You'll stay to see the formalities, I hope?"

"Should we?" I asked.

"Of course you should, if Gorfyddyd allows you. All experience is useful, however ugly. I've performed the rites often enough, so I won't stay to be amused, but be a.s.sured you will be safe here. I shall turn Gorfyddyd into a slug if he touches a hair of your foolish heads, but for now I have to go. lorweth thinks there's an old woman on the Demetian border who might remember something useful. If she's alive, of course, and kept her memory. I do hate talking to old women; they're so grateful for company that they never stop chattering and never keep to the subject either. What a prospect. Tell Nimue I look forward to seeing her!" And with those words he was out of the door and striding across the fort's inner compound.

The sky clouded that afternoon and a grey ugly drizzle soaked the fort before evening. The Druid lorweth came to us and a.s.sured us we were safe, but tactfully suggested that we would strain Gorfyddyd's reluctant hospitality if we attended the evening's feast that marked the last gathering of Gorfyddyd's allies and chiefs before the men at Caer Sws marched south to join the rest of the army at Branogenium. We a.s.sured lorweth we had no wish to attend the feast. The Druid smiled his thanks, then sat on a bench beside the door. "You're friends of Merlin?" he asked.

"Lord Derfel is," Galahad said. lorweth rubbed his eyes tiredly. He was old, with a friendly, mild face and a bald head on which a ghost of a tonsure showed just above each ear. "I cannot help thinking," he said, 'that my brother Merlin expects too much of the G.o.ds. He believes the world can be made anew and that history can be rubbed out like a line drawn in the mud. Yet it isn't so." He scratched at a louse in his beard, then looked at Galahad, who wore a cross about his neck. He shook his head. "I envy your Christian G.o.d. He is three and He is one, He is dead and He is alive, He is everywhere and He is nowhere, and He demands that you worship Him, but claims nothing else is worthy of worship. There's room in those contradictions for a man to believe in anything or nothing, but not with our G.o.ds. They are like kings, fickle and powerful, and if they want to forget us, they do. It doesn't matter what we believe, only what they want. Our spells only work when the G.o.ds permit. Merlin disagrees, of course. He thinks that if we shout loud enough we'll get their attention, but what do you do to a child who shouts?"

"Give it attention?" I suggested.

"You hit it, Lord Derfel," lorweth said. "You hit it until it is quiet. I fear Lord Merlin may shout too loud for too long." He stood and picked up his staff. "I apologize that you cannot eat with the warriors tonight, but the Princess h.e.l.ledd says you are very welcome to dine with her household." h.e.l.ledd of Elmet was the wife of Cuneglas and her invitation was not necessarily a compliment. Indeed, the invitation could have been a measured insult devised by Gorfyddyd to imply that we were only fit to dine with women and children, but Galahad said we would be honoured to accept. And there, in h.e.l.ledd's small hall, was Ceinwyn. I had wanted to see her again, I had wanted it ever since Galahad had first ventured the suggestion that he make an emba.s.sy to Powys, and that was why I had made such strenuous efforts to accompany him. I had not come to Caer Sws to make peace, but to see Ceinwyn's face again, and now, in the flickering rushlight of h.e.l.ledd's hall, I saw her. The years had not changed her. Her face was as sweet, her manner as demure, her hair as bright and her smile as lovely. When we entered the room she was fussing with a small child, trying to feed him sc.r.a.ps of apple. The child was Cuneglas's son, Perddel. "I've told him if he won't eat his apple then the horrid Dumnonians will take him away," she said with a smile. "I think he must want to go with you, for he won't eat a thing."

h.e.l.ledd of Elmet, Perddel's mother, was a tall woman with a heavy jaw and pale eyes. She made us welcome, ordering a maidservant to pour us mead, then introduced us to two of her aunts, Tonwyn and Elsel, who looked at us resentfully. We had evidently interrupted a conversation they were relishing and the aunts' sour glances suggested we should leave, but h.e.l.ledd was more gracious. "Do you know the Princess Ceinwyn?" she asked us.

Galahad bowed to her, then squatted beside Perddel. He always liked children who, in turn, trusted him on sight. Before a moment had pa.s.sed the two Princes were playing with the apple sc.r.a.ps as though they were foxes, with Perddel's mouth the foxes' den and Galahad's fingers the hounds chasing the fox. The pieces of apple disappeared. "Why didn't I think of that?" Ceinwyn asked.

"Because you weren't raised by Galahad's mother, Lady," I said, 'who doubtless fed him in the same way. To this day he can't eat unless someone sounds a hunting horn." She laughed, then caught sight of the brooch I wore. She caught her breath, coloured, and for an instant I thought I had made a huge mistake. Then she smiled. "I should remember you, Lord Derfel?"

"No, Lady. I was very young."

"And you kept it?" she asked, apparently astonished that anyone should treasure one of her gifts.

"I kept it, Lady, even when I lost everything else."

The Princess h.e.l.ledd interrupted us by asking what business had brought us to Caer Sws. I am sure she already knew, but it was politic for a princess to pretend that she was outside men's council. I answered by saying we had been sent to determine whether war was inevitable. "And is it?" the Princess asked with understandable worry, for on the morrow her husband would go south towards the enemy.

"Sadly, Lady," I answered, 'it seems so."

"It's all Arthur's fault," Princess h.e.l.ledd said firmly and her aunts nodded vigorously.

"I think Arthur would agree with you, Lady," I said, 'and he regrets it."

"Then why does he fight us?" h.e.l.ledd wanted to know.

"Because he is sworn to keep Mordred on the throne, Lady."

"My father-in-law would never dispossess Uther's heir," h.e.l.ledd said fiercely.

"Lord Derfel almost lost his head through having this conversation this morning," Ceinwyn said mischievously.

"Lord Derfel," Galahad intervened, looking up from the latest fox-chase, 'kept his head because he is beloved by his G.o.ds."

"Not by yours, Lord Prince?" h.e.l.ledd asked sharply.

"My G.o.d loves everyone, Lady."

"He is indiscriminate, you mean?" She laughed.

We ate goose, chicken, hare and venison, and were served a villainous wine that must have been stored too long since it was brought to Britain. After the meal we moved to cushioned couches and a harpist played for us. The couches were furniture for a woman's hall and both Galahad and I were uncomfortable on their low, soft beds, but I was happy enough for I had made sure I took the couch next to Ceinwyn. For a time I sat straight up, but then leaned on one elbow so I could talk softly to her. I complimented her on her betrothal to Gundleus.

She gave me an amused glance. "That sounds like a courtier speaking," she said.

"I am forced to be a courtier at times, Lady. Would you prefer me to be the warrior?" She leaned back on an elbow so we could talk without disturbing the music, and her proximity made it seem as though my senses floated in smoke. "My Lord Gundleus," she said softly, 'demanded my hand as the price of his army in this coming war."

"Then his army, Lady," I said, 'is the most valuable in Britain." She did not smile at the compliment, but kept her eyes steadily on mine. "Is it true," she asked very quietly, 'that he killed Norwenna?"

The bluntness of the question unsettled me. "What does he say, Lady?" I asked instead of answering directly.

"He says' and her voice was even lower so that I could scarcely hear her words 'that his men were attacked and that in the confusion, she died. It was an accident, he says." I glanced at the young girl playing the harp. The aunts were glaring at the two of us, but h.e.l.ledd seemed unworried by our talking. Galahad was listening to the music, one arm around the sleeping Perddel. "I was on the Tor that day, Lady," I said, turning back to Ceinwyn.

"And?"

I decided her bluntness deserved a blunt answer. "She knelt to him in welcome, Lady," I said, 'and he ran his sword down her throat. I saw it done."

Her face hardened for a second. The glimmering rushlight burnished her pale skin and made soft shadows on her cheeks and under her lower lip. She was wearing a rich dress of pale blue linen that was trimmed with the black-flecked silver-white fur of a winter-stoat. A silver torque encircled her neck, silver rings were in her ears and I thought how well silver suited her bright hair. She gave a small sigh. "I feared to hear that truth," she said, 'but being a princess means I must marry where it is most useful for me to do so and not where I might want to." She turned her head to the musician for a time, then leaned close to me again. "My father," she said nervously, 'says this is a war about my honour. Is it?"

"For him, Lady, yes, though I can tell you Arthur regrets the hurt he did you." She grimaced slightly. The subject was clearly painful, but she could not let it go, for Arthur's rejection had changed Ceinwyn's life much more subtly and sadly than it had ever changed his. Arthur had gone on to happiness and marriage while she had been left to suffer the long regrets and find the painful answers which, evidently, had not been found. "Do you understand him?" she asked after a while.

"I did not understand him back then, Lady," I said. "I thought he was a fool. So did we all."

"And now?" she asked, her blue eyes on mine.

I thought for a few seconds. "I think, Lady, that for once in his life Arthur was struck by a madness that he could not control."

"Love?"

I looked at her and told myself that I was not in love with her and that her brooch was a talisman s.n.a.t.c.hed randomly from chance. I told myself that she was a Princess and I the son of a slave. "Yes, Lady," I said.

"Do you understand that madness?" she asked me.

I was aware of nothing in the room except Ceinwyn. The Princess h.e.l.ledd, the sleeping Prince, Galahad, the aunts, the harpist, none of them existed for me, any more than did the woven wall hangings or the bronze rushlight holders. I was aware only of Ceinwyn's large sad eyes and of my own beating heart.

"I do understand that you can look into someone's eyes," I heard myself saying, 'and suddenly know that life will be impossible without them. Know that their voice can make your heart miss a beat and that their company is all your happiness can ever desire and that their absence will leave your soul alone, bereft and lost."

She said nothing for a while, but just looked at me with a slightly puzzled expression. "Has that ever happened to you, Lord Derfel?" she asked at last.

I hesitated. I knew the words my soul wanted to say and I knew the words my station should make me say, but then I told myself that a warrior did not thrive on timidity and I let my soul have government of my tongue. "It has never happened until this moment, Lady," I said. It took more bravery to make that declaration than I had ever needed to break a shield-wall.

She immediately looked away and sat up, and I cursed myself for offending her with my stupid clumsiness. I stayed back on the couch, my face red and my soul hurting with embarra.s.sment as Ceinwyn applauded the harpist by throwing some silver coins on to the rug beside the instrument. She asked for the Song of Rhiannon to be played.

"I thought you were not listening, Ceinwyn," one of the aunts said cattily.

"I am, Tonwyn, I am, and I am taking a great pleasure in all I hear," Ceinwyn said and I felt suddenly like a man feels when the enemy's shield-wall collapses. Except I dared not trust her words. I wanted to; I dared not. Love's madness, swinging from ecstasy to despair in one wild second. The music began again, its background the raucous cheers coming from the great hall where the warriors antic.i.p.ated battle. I leaned all the way back on the cushions, my face still red as I tried to work out whether Ceinwyn's last words had referred to our conversation or to the music, and then Ceinwyn lay back and leaned close to me again. "I do not want a war fought over me," she said.

"It seems inevitable, Lady."

"My brother agrees with me."

"But your father rules in Powys, Lady."

"That he does," she said flatly. She paused, frowning, then looked up at me. "If Arthur wins, who will he want me to marry?"

Once again the directness of her question surprised me, but I gave her the true answer. "He wants you to be Queen of Siluria, Lady," I said.

She looked at me with sudden alarm. "Married to Gundleus?"

"To King Lancelot of Benoic, Lady," I said, giving away Arthur's secret hope. I watched for her reaction. She gazed into my eyes, apparently trying to judge whether I had spoken the truth. "They say Lancelot is a great warrior," she said after a while and with a lack of enthusiasm that warmed my heart.

"They do say that, Lady, yes," I said.

She was silent again. She leaned on her elbow and watched the harpist's hands flicker across the strings, and I watched her. "Tell Arthur," she said after a while and without looking at me, 'that I hold no grudge. And tell him something else." She stopped suddenly.

"Yes, Lady?" I encouraged her.

"Tell him that if he wins," she said, then turned to me and reached a slender ringer across the gap between our couches to touch the back of my hand to show how important her words were, 'that if he wins," she said again, "I shall beg for his protection."

"I shall tell him, Lady," I said, then paused with my heart full. "And I swear you mine too, in all honour." She kept her finger on my hand, her touch as light as the sleeping Prince's breath. "I might hold you to that oath, Lord Derfel," she said, her eyes on mine.

"Till time ends and evermore, that oath will be true, Lady." She smiled, took her hand away and sat up straight.

And that night I went to my bed in a daze of confusion, hope, stupidity, apprehension, fear and delight. For, just like Arthur, I had come to Caer Sws and been stricken by love.

PART FIVE.

The Shield-Wall

"Oo it was her!" Igraine accused me. "The Princess Ceinwyn Owho turned your blood to smoke, Brother Derfel."

"Yes, Lady, it was," I confessed, and I confess now that there are tears in my eyes as I remember Ceinwyn. Or perhaps it is the weather that is making my eyes water, for autumn has come to Dinnewrac and a cold wind is stealing through my window. I must soon make a pause in this writing, for we shall have to be busy storing our foodstuffs for the winter and making the log pile that the blessed Saint Sansum will take pleasure in not burning so that we can share our dear Saviour's suffering.

"No wonder you hate Lancelot so much!" Igraine said. "You were rivals. Did he know how you felt for Ceinwyn?"

"In time," I said, 'yes."

"So what happened?" she asked eagerly.

"Why don't we leave the story in its proper order, Lady?"

"Because I don't want to, of course."

"Well I do," I said, 'and I am the storyteller, not you."

"If I didn't like you so much, Brother Derfel, I would have your head cut off and your body fed to our hounds." She frowned, thinking. She looks very pretty today in a cloak of grey wool edged with otter fur. She is not pregnant, so either the pessary of baby's faeces did not work or else Brochvael is spending too much time with Nwylle. "There was always talk in my husband's family about Great-aunt Ceinwyn," she said, 'but no one ever really explained what the scandal was about."

"There is no one I have ever known, Lady," I said sternly, 'about whom there was less scandal."

"Ceinwyn never married," Igraine said, "I know that much."

"Is that so scandalous?" I asked.

"It is if she behaved as though she were married," Igraine said indignantly. "That's what your church preaches. Our church," she hastily corrected herself. "So what happened? Tell me!" I pulled my monk's sleeve over the stump of my hand, always the first part of me to feel a chill wind.

"Ceinwyn's tale is too long to tell now," I said, and refused to add any more, despite my Queen's importunate demands.

"So did Merlin find the Cauldron?" Igraine demanded instead.

"We shall come to that in its proper time," I insisted.

She threw up her hands. "You infuriate me, Derfel. If I behaved like a proper queen I really would demand your head."

"And if I was anything but an ancient and feeble monk, Lady, I would give it to you." She laughed, then turned to look out of the window. The leaves of the small oak trees that Brother Maelgwyn planted to make a windbreak have turned brown early and the woods in the combe below us are thick with berries, both signs that a harsh winter is coming. Sagramor once told me there were places where winter never comes and the sun shines warm all year, but maybe, like the existence of rabbits, that was another of his fanciful tales. I once hoped that the Christian heaven would be a warm place, but Saint Sansum insists heaven must be cold because h.e.l.l is hot and I suppose the saint is right. There is so little to look forward to. Igraine shivered and turned back towards me. "No one ever made me a Lughnasa bower," she said wistfully.

"Of course they did!" I said. "Every year you have one!"

"But that's the Caer's bower. The slaves make it because they have to, and naturally I sit there, but it isn't the same as having your own young man make you a bower out of foxgloves and willow. Was Merlin angry about you and Nimue making love?"

"I should never have confessed that to you," I said. "If he knew he never said anything. It wouldn't have mattered to him. He was not jealous." Not like the rest of us. Not like Arthur, not like me. How much of our earth has been wet by blood because of jealousy! And at the end of life, what does it all matter? We grow old and the young look at us and can never see that once we made a kingdom ring for love. Igraine adopted her mischievous look. "You say Gorfyddyd called Guinevere a wh.o.r.e. Was she?"

"You should not use that word."

"All right, was Guinevere what Gorfyddyd said she was, which I'm not allowed to say for fear of offending your innocent ears?"

"No," I said, 'she was not."

"But was she faithful to Arthur?"

"Wait," I said.

She stuck her tongue out at me. "Did Lancelot become a Mithraist?" she asked.

"Wait and see," I insisted.

"I hate you!"