Page 48 of Warrior Queen
How I wished I didn’t know myself.
I, too, sighed, but with relief rather than resignation. I pulled a hand free and caressed his stubbly cheek. “You’re right. It doesn’t do anyone any good to look too far ahead.” I managed a smile. “I only know you need to stay here and guard the city. They’ll come to you, if you wait. And you’ll win.”
He nodded. “I’ll find room within the walls for our men tomorrow, even if Coel objects. Either that, or we’ll go back outside to pitch our tents with them. I don’t want to be separated from my men.” His head turned toward my hand, and he kissed it gently. “But I’ll think about that in the morning. For now,” he nodded at the bed, “we have an inviting bed that’s not on the hard ground nor surrounded by other men.”
His eyes twinkled, and my mouth slipped into a smile. Men. They have such one-track minds. Had I read once that they think about sex every three minutes? It seemed that was as true in the fifth century as the twenty-first. Not that I was going to complain. I leaned forwards and kissed him on the mouth.
Chapter Sixteen
Iawoke alonein my bed with an Arthur-shaped indentation beside me. Blinking in the light spilling through the unshuttered window high above my head, I reached out a hand to find him missing. Half asleep in that early morning semi-dream state, I’d been hoping for a replay of the previous night, imagining him touching me the way he had when we’d finally got into bed. Even just thinking of it had me squirming. It came as a hard return to reality to find him gone.
I pushed the bed covers off and got to my feet. My clothes lay on the floor where he’d torn them off me the night before. Hugging the memory, I gathered them up and slipped my undershirt on to cover my nakedness in case anyone came to disturb me.
Arthur’s clothes had gone, of course. No sign remained that he’d even been here. I’d better finish getting dressed and find out what was going on.
Merlin and Cei had vanished too. The doors of their rooms stood ajar, as if they’d left in a hurry. As with Arthur, no sign remained to indicate they’d been there, apart from rumpled bedclothes. Disappointed, I turned away. In the center of the courtyard a raised bed boasted a spindly bay tree and a lot of leafy weeds amongst the herbs, all growing in what might once have held a fountain. The uneven flagstones badly needed relaying, and the whole place had the familiar air of neglect common to most Roman towns and cities, not enhanced by the dismally cloudy sky.
Sandaled footsteps clacked in the corridor from the main palace, and an elderly woman emerged from the comparative gloom. She wore a long, pale-blue gown, and her almost white hair sat piled on top of her head in carefully arranged curls.
With her face creased in a smile, she halted near the herb bed. “Ah, you’re up. That’s good. I wasn’t sure if I should wake you or not. Your husband told me you were exhausted from your journey.”
Well, that and other things. I returned her smile. Who could she be? Well-spoken and a little abrupt, her air of authority hinted that she couldn’t be a servant. And her dress, simple though it was, might well have been made of silk, a very scarce fabric. Only my underwear was made of silk– to my own design. Who’d have thought I’d have introduced silk knickers and bras to the Dark Ages?
Dismissing my speculation about her clothing, and conscious of the fact I was still dressed as a boy, I smoothed down my tunic. “Good morning.” Best to be polite, especially as I didn’t know who she was. “My lady.”
Her friendly smile widened. “Tush, tush, tush. I’m an old woman now and the niceties of royal politics are too awkward for me to bother with. If you will call me Ystradwel, may I call you Gwen? That’s how your husband referred to you.”
None the wiser as to who she was, but liking her, I nodded. “Please do.”
Her piercing gaze swept the courtyard, taking in the open doors and emptiness. She tutted. “Have you been served breakfast yet? No? I expect the servants were waiting for you to waken. Your husband was most adamant in his request that no one should disturb you.”
Whoever she was, she was very chatty. I butted in. “Do you know where my husband is?”
Ystradwel nodded. “He and his generals have gone out to organize their men and bring their camp inside our walls. My husband has accompanied them.”
Her husband? Could she be Coel’s queen? Even though she had white hair, she didn’t look anywhere near as old as him.
She gestured to the corridor she’d emerged from. “If you’d like to come with me, we can breakfast together.”
Mustering as much grace as I could, which was difficult considering how I was dressed, I bowed my head in acknowledgement and accompanied her.
My guess turned out to be right. She was indeed Coel’s queen, and had chambers near to his. We sat at a small circular table and consumed a breakfast of dried figs and fresh rolls spread with thick, golden butter. We washed the delicious meal down with some kind of fruit drink that didn’t taste alcoholic, but might have been deceptive.
“I married Coel when I was just a girl,” Ystradwel told me, as we got to know one another over the food. “My father, Gadeon, was King of Rheged, my mother from Dumnonia. I should think I must be distantly related to your husband.”
Intrigued, I waited for her to go on. So many of the kings of Britain were related to one another, finding suitable wives and avoiding inbreeding must have been quite difficult.
“I had an older brother, but he died young. My nephew rules in Rheged now– Meirchion. They call him ‘the Lean’ but not because he’s thin– more because he’s so mean.”
I had to smile. Arthur and I’d had dealings with her unhelpful nephew before. But I warily held my tongue rather than reveal my own opinion. You never knew whether people would take offense.
She took a bite of bread, and chewed thoughtfully. “When I was young, Coel chose me to be his queen because I was beautiful, although to see me now, you’d not believe it. Ystradwel the Fair, they called me. Many young princes fancied their chances.”
“You’re still beautiful,” I said, an opinion I felt brave enough to share, as I studied her high cheekbones and perfectly oval face. “You’re just old. Being old doesn’t make a woman ugly.”
She chuckled. “Spoken by a young woman in her prime. One day you’ll not be able to count the wrinkles that have multiplied on your face. It comes to all of us.”
Not to women in my world– plastic surgery, face lifts, and Botox saw to that. But I didn’t tell her. Something intrinsically elegant and glamorous hung about her, making it easy to imagine how the young Coel must have fallen in love with her. No wonder she’d had the epithet “the Fair.”
