Page 72 of Warrior Queen
Arthur straightened up, his face breaking into a wide grin. As Amhar reached him, he dropped his sickle and swept the excited little boy into his arms, lifting him high into the air above his head. I couldn’t help the smile that leapt to my face. A day for family, a day for the bounty of the harvest, a day to forget the horrors of war.
They were close enough for me to overhear.
“Have you come to help me?” Arthur asked. “I’ve need of someone strong. We’ve nearly finished here, but that last bit looks really difficult.”
Contented, I leaned on the grassy bank that surrounded the field to watch, as Seren helped herself to a snack beside me. Archfedd remained sleeping in her panier, her chubby thumb firmly ensconced in her mouth.
With Arthur downing tools, all the men in his field had done the same, their rhythm disrupted. They didn’t seem to mind. A few more children raced through the gateway to find their fathers, all the men as pleased to see their offspring as Arthur had been.
Medraut strolled through the gateway by himself, staring around with the air of a monarch surveying his subjects, then spotted Arthur and trotted toward him.
Morgawse, who’d come to stand beside me with a tired Rheagan in her arms, chuckled. “My son has poise, I’ll give him that.”
I glanced sideways at her, certain I wouldn’t have wanted Amhar to behave the way his cousin did. Not sure poise was what I wanted to see in a five-year-old. But she was watching Medraut’s progress, pride glowing in her eyes.
Arthur set Amhar on the ground as Medraut picked up the sickle Arthur had dropped. It must have been heavy for so small a child, but he hefted it like an expert. “I can do this,” he announced, and took an energetic swing at the remaining wheat stalks. He was close to Amhar. Too close. The blade swished through the dry stalks toward my son. Morgawse gasped. I opened my mouth to shout a warning, my heart leaping into my throat, and my legs suddenly too weak to hold me up as my fingers dug into the turf on top of the grassy bank.
Arthur grabbed Medraut’s arm. “Thank you.” His voice was icy calm.
The deadly blade stopped inches from Amhar’s legs. Even from where I stood it was obvious Medraut didn’t want to let go of the sickle. Arthur had to pry his hands off it. But Medraut wasn’t looking at his uncle– his eyes, so like his Aunt Morgana’s, were fixed on Amhar, his thin black eyebrows lowered in a frown. A cold shiver ran down my spine.
Setting the sickle down out of harm’s way and taking a boy in each hand, Arthur walked over to the gateway where we stood. “You’ve brought food? Good. We’ll get this field finished then come over and eat. Better keep the boys out of the way unless you want them going back home minus a limb.” His tone was light.
Had he not seen the look on Medraut’s face? This wasn’t a joking matter. How close had my little boy come to being seriously injured by another child? Perhaps on purpose.
What was I thinking?On purpose?
The thought had leapt into my head unbidden. I clamped my lips together in case it leapt out of them fully formed. No child could be guilty of that. Could they?
I grabbed Amhar’s hand and pulled him close to me, making him whine that I was hurting him, as Arthur returned to his fellows.
Maia tied Seren’s leading rein to the stone gate post, and we lifted the still sleeping Archfedd out and laid her down on the plaid blanket we’d brought to sit on. Medraut skipped off to join a group of other little boys kicking an inflated pig’s bladder football about across the stubble in the next field. Amhar tried to wriggle his hand free, but I held him firmly. “You’re not big enough yet. You’ll have to stay with me and your sister.”
Lower lip jutting, he sat down next to Archfedd and gave her a hard poke. She woke up with a whimper.
Maia scooped her up for a cuddle and I gave Amhar an angry stare that brought hot color to his cheeks. Good. For his own safety he needed to learn that he had to do what I said.
There I went again. The idea that playing with Medraut was not safe for my son resurfaced. What was I doing? Surely it was my imagination and knowledge of what I thought, onlythought, Medraut would one day do, that had made me so suspicious? But I couldn’t rid myself of the fear. My fingers tightened round Amhar’s hand, and he gave a whimper. I had to force myself to slacken my grip.
It wasn’t long before Arthur and Merlin came bounding over like a pair of playful colts to join us, punching each other’s arms and laughing. They flopped down onto the blanket, still laughing. How good to see Arthur light-hearted again. Hopefully with genuine joy.
“What’ve you brought?” Arthur asked, reminding me more than ever of his sons, whose main reason for living seemed to be to eat. “I’m starving.”
We had pies, cold meat, cheese, onions, the first of the season’s small rosy apples, fresh bread, and cider to wash it down. And elderflower cordial that Maia had made with clean spring water for the children.
Regretting that being a woman meant I had to wear a dress on top of an undershirt and stockings most of the time, I wiped a strand of hair off my hot forehead and watched Arthur eat, envious of his state of undress. He’d not been lying when he’d said he was starving. And Merlin was the same. While we women and children ate sparingly, Arthur and Merlin put away all the rest of the food, only crumbs remaining. Might that mean the end of self-recriminations and nightmares?
The sight of Arthur doing something so different from fighting, and so obviously enjoying it, gladdened my heart. He’d caught the sun, and it did cross my mind to wonder whether working shirtless in such heat was a good idea. When Amhar asked to take his tunic off, I wouldn’t let him, even though some of the other children were by now running about naked, in and out of the shallow stream that ran along the edge of the fields, down by the sweeping willow trees.
He moaned at that, of course, but Arthur fixed him with a hard stare that silenced his complaints. He knew better than to cross his father.
All too soon the men had to return to work, and we loaded Seren up again with Archfedd in one pannier and a tired and sleepy Reaghan in the other, both clutching wilting bunches of flowers and corn dollies Maia had twisted for them.
Medraut returned from paddling with his friends, and Morgawse enfolded him in a hug he plainly didn’t appreciate. “I’m tired,” he whined. “I need to ride back up the hill on Seren as well.”
Morgawse glanced across at me. She must have guessed what I’d say to that one. Medraut was older than Amhar, and not only was Seren my son’s, but Amhar wasn’t moaning about being tired. Mind you, he had been sitting quietly with us while Medraut played with the other children.
I smiled sweetly at Medraut. “Well, maybe you shouldn’t have run about for such a long time playing football with your friends. This will be a good lesson to learn. Save some energy for getting home. Seren’s only small and has enough to carry with the two girls. You’ll have to walk.”
