After a few moments he appeared, his long hair as wet as mine and slicked back from his thin face. Those servants must have been kept very busy carting hot water.
“Food first,” Merlin said. “Then we go to Caninus’s house.”
Nerves twisted my stomach. Might this king know where my husband had got to?
Chapter Ten
Caninus’s house layin the western quarter of the town, on the main street. Once, it must have been the home of a wealthy Roman merchant, perhaps the town magistrate, but now it had become the royal palace.
Merlin and I, shunning the offer of guards, chose to walk there alone along a twilit, tatty street that reeked of animal excrement, household rubbish and urine, empty now of all but a few people. On the corner, we passed a tavern where lamplight spilled out onto the dirty cobbles through unshuttered windows, and the sound of merrymaking came tumbling from the open door.
The main road, the Ermine Way, was in a slightly better state, its cobbles swept clean by the individuals who lived there…or their servants. Light peeked from the cracks around firmly closed doors and shutters, and the tang of woodsmoke fought to overpower the baser town stink that came creeping in from the backstreets.
Word had gone ahead announcing our arrival, and the two armored guards standing by the main doors of the palace stood back to allow us entry, smartly saluting as we passed. In common with the rest of the town, an air of ongoing decay clung to the genteelly shabby building.
In the center of the torchlit atrium, a fountain played in a small square pool, beneath a roof opening that let in the cool night air. Shabby, ochre-painted pillars supported this roof, and underfoot a geometric mosaic decorated the floor.
Two more guards stood just inside the doors, hostile eyes fixed on us, and for a moment my stomach did a nervous twist. I’d been here before, not so long ago, but that had been in Arthur’s company. Just because Caninus was his cousin, and had appeared friendly at the Council of Kings, didn’t mean he would be in his stronghold.
The sudden clatter of a chair being pushed back drew my attention, and I turned toward the sound. A door stood open onto an antechamber. Inside, a grizzled warrior was getting to his feet. Unlike the guards, he wore no mail shirt, but a sky-blue tunic, decorated at the neck, hem and cuffs with embroidery, that marked him out as a man of importance. His swarthy, heavily lined face broke into a smile of recognition as he spotted Merlin.
He stepped forward to meet us. “Merlin, well met. And this is…?”
Merlin made the smallest of bows to the stranger, as though he were an equal. “Macklyn, may I present Queen Guinevere, wife of the High King.” Last time we’d been here it had been with such a force that we’d had to camp outside the walls. Only Arthur and Merlin had gone to the palace.
“Milady.” The man made a deep bow, and, straightening, stared curiously into my eyes. His were nearly as dark as Arthur’s but half-hidden by folds of wrinkled skin. “Welcome to Caer Went and the king’s palace. I hope your accommodation in our town is to your liking.”
I smiled at him and held out my hand. He took it in his ink-stained fingers, and, bending again, to my surprise kissed not my hand but the ring on it. A bit like when people greeted the pope in my old world.
“We’re lodged in the mansio by the south gates,” Merlin said. “I judged that the best place to stay, rather than impose ourselves on you here in the palace.”
“Most wise,” Macklyn said, leaving me wondering why this should be so. But he didn’t give me much time for speculation. “I assume you’re here to see my master?”
Merlin nodded. “The Queen seeks an audience with King Caninus.”
Macklyn turned toward the atrium’s interior doors, closed now night had fallen. “This way.”
He led us into a large, gloomy courtyard. Around the edge ran a colonnaded walkway with uneven flagstones underfoot and tall pillars supporting the overhanging roof. Steps led down into a sunken garden in the center, the scent of aromatic plants heavy in the warm night air.
However, Macklyn kept to the shelter of the walkway, so reminiscent of the palace at Viroconium that it brought back unpleasant memories of the time I’d had to hide from warring soldiers in its kitchens, and help Karstyn, the cook, deliver Morgawse’s son. We passed from dark shadows into pools of light created by the few torches set in iron brackets on the pillars, their smoke curling up into the night sky.
Macklyn halted outside a set of ornate double doors embossed with heavy carvings and a hint of what might have been gold leaf still clinging on. Two more stern-faced guards stood sentry, swords on their hips and the butts of their tall spears resting on the ground beside them. As we approached, they swung their spears in front of us, making a cross to halt our progress.
“At ease, men,” Macklyn said, and they swung their spears back out of our way. He pushed one side of the doors open, and stood back to let us enter.
We found ourselves in a shadowy, lamplit anteroom of some kind, with bench seats down one side and a long table down the other. Another mosaic covered the floor, this time depicting a sea monster surrounded by fishes, undulating a little as had the flagstones. Subsidence, no doubt. A man sat at the table, writing. He raised his head to look at us.
If I hadn’t met Caninus before, I’d have taken him for a secretary. He wore only a long, cream tunic, unadorned by even the smallest amount of embroidery, and when he got to his feet, just a plain leather belt showed, cinching his narrow waist. No sword, no dagger, and no braccae either– only a pair of rather skinny legs, and bony feet in open-toed sandals.
A spare man, older and not as tall as Arthur, he perhaps favored his late father, Uthyr’s older brother, Ambrosius. Close-cropped, graying hair clung to his head in a tightly curling cap, and a shadow of dark stubble, speckled with gray, covered his square, determined jaw. He might not be so physically impressive as either of his cousins, but about him hung an aura of latent power that filled the room.
He came around the table and held out his hands to Merlin. “Welcome to Caer Went.”
Merlin clasped his hands for a moment before stepping to one side.
Caninus’s eyes settled on me, where I stood a little behind Merlin, still in the shadows. “Queen Guinevere, if I’m not mistaken.” Even here, in private, he spoke with the deep, melodious tones of a stage actor. A voice I could have listened to even if he were only reciting a shopping list.
“My Lord King,” I swept him a curtsey, even though I knew they wouldn’t be around until the time of Henry VIII. A long gown cried out for one, so why not?