Page 40 of Warrior Queen
A shudder ran through me. We’d buried our dead and the priest in a hurry yesterday evening, and now I understood why. I put down my cheese, not hungry anymore.
Arthur picked it up. “Better not waste it.” He popped it into his mouth with a grin.
It was an altogether quicker process to prepare an army already on the move to march than it was to get them to set out from Din Cadan. Up at first light, by the time the townspeople emerged sleepily from their damaged homes, we were all mounted up ready to leave. Our fires had been quenched, and very little sign remained that we’d been here, save the ground trampled and manured by our horses and the charred circles in the grass.
We left by the northern gates, Arthur’s army nicely bolstered by the addition of the men I’d brought from Din Cadan, and those Caninus had donated. A few of the townspeople came out to see us off– or perhaps to make sure we were really going. Their surly, discontented faces held no look of gratefulness. Maybe they thought it our fault the Irish had come at all, and our fault the town had been fired, and our fault their foolish priest had died.
The little boy, Llawfrodedd, who’d rescued Alezan for me, was sitting on the stony ruins of the northern gate tower, skinny bare legs dangling. When he saw me, he jumped to his feet and waved his arms, a wide grin splitting his grubby little face. I waved back, doubting I’d ever see him again, and guessing that his parents would take his brooch and trade it for something they needed after I’d gone.
The town fell behind us, and ahead, on the road to Ebrauc, lay Viroconium. Viroconium, Cadwy… and Morgana.
Chapter Fourteen
In the rain-washedevening light, the rendered walls of Viroconium reared up grim and well-maintained to their crenellated battlements, where the helmeted heads of a host of heavily armed guards showed above the stonework.
Merlin, Arthur, and I stood amongst a crowd of locals on the wet, cobbled road outside the city gates. All around us, tired men and women were returning from the fields outside the walls, or emerging from the city carrying goods they’d bartered for at the daily market– new tools, bolts of cloth, pots and pans.
We looked just like they did, dressed in rough, homespun clothing we’d acquired from a farmstead in the hills five miles to the north where our army had made camp. Tunics and braccae for Merlin and Arthur, a peasant woman’s long tunic for me, and smelly cloaks for all three of us.
Both Merlin and Arthur, with their short growth of beard, had the unkempt look of peasants– if you were generous. Fortunately, the warm summer rain meant we could have the hoods of our threadbare cloaks up over our heads and not look out of place. Arthur carried a grotty bag slung across his back.
We were here for Merlin.
Arthur had given Viroconium as wide a berth as possible. He’d taken the army up into the foothills of the western mountains so as not to be spotted by anyone who might report our passing to Cadwy. As we’d progressed, Merlin had grown more and more dejected, sinking into himself and ignoring anyone who tried to talk to him. Even me.
When we made camp beside a small farmstead in a quiet valley, I’d determined to keep an eye on him and had caught him sneaking away to saddle up his horse. I fetched Arthur, and it hadn’t taken the mind of a Hercule Poirot to work out where Merlin was going. Arthur refused to let him go alone, and I refused to be left behind.
“I’m the only one who can get you into the palace unseen,” Arthur pointed out. “You might think you know it, but you weren’t a boy there. You can hardly walk up to the main doors and ask to be let in to see your child, can you?”
“If you take a woman with you,” my argument ran, “then you’ll arouse less suspicion than two strange men would.”
Of course, they hadn’t wanted to take me, but eventually I wore them down with my persistence. Merlin resigned himself to taking both of us with a sigh, but the light of excitement shone in Arthur’s eyes– he was a boy again about to undertake an exciting adventure. So much so, he probably didn’t think too much about the danger he was about to take me into. Thank goodness.
So here we were, a trio of spies about to enter the lion’s den that was Cadwy’s lair. All so Merlin could see his child.Herchild.
“We can’t stand here much longer,” Arthur muttered. “We’ll attract attention if we do. We’d better get inside while people are still going in.”
Farm workers trudged past us, tools over their shoulders, nodding occasionally at the people coming out as though they knew them. The dribble of scruffily dressed peasants passing back and forth appeared to be lessening as the sun sank below the hills in the west.
Merlin gave a brief nod. Despite Arthur not having prevented him from going, he’d remained quiet and aloof during our journey astride the three ancient horses the farmer had supplied. They were so pathetic looking that for part of the journey I’d dismounted and walked, feeling sorry for my scrawny mount.
A creaking wagonload of newly cut hay covered by some sort of rough tarpaulin, but still sweet smelling and fragrant, rumbled past. We fell in beside it, all three of us hanging our heads a little and trying to look insignificant. A bit hard when you’re a king. Arthur still had the purposeful stride of a warrior, no matter how much he tried to disguise it.
“Limp,” I whispered to him. “Walk slower.”
He glanced at me, eyes alight with mischief, but he did as I advised. The limp hid his over-confident, martial walk a little. Merlin, slouching along with the air of the deeply fed up, appeared much better at acting than Arthur. If I hadn’t known, I’d have thought him just another downtrodden peasant.
Shoulders hunched and back a little bowed, I passed through the gateway under the not-so-close scrutiny of the guards, and so did Arthur and Merlin. We were inside.
Despite the drizzle, people crowded the streets. Lack of refrigeration in the Dark Ages meant food had to be acquired fresh every day. Camouflaged in these itchy, smelly clothes, we fitted in well with the workers returning from the fields, the occasional, slightly-more-smartly dressed merchants, and the farmers with their empty ox carts heading back outside the walls.
Lamplight spilled from open doorways, and the sounds of raucous voices rose as men began the evening ritual of drinking. Not unlike many of the large towns in my old world of an evening, with young people out boozing and clubbing. Carousing voices rose, laughter, shouts, the odd screech. As evening drew on, the city vibrated with life.
In the forum that surrounded the Council hall, where the sword in the stone had once stood, we tied our horses up to now nearly empty rails, the amount of droppings indicating how busy the market must have been.
All around us, stall holders were shutting up their shops, although a few selling hot food remained open, their owners shouting to attract the last customers of the day.
I dragged my eyes away from a stall still selling hot pies, and followed Arthur and Merlin around the edge of the forum in the direction of the royal palace.
