Page 86 of Warrior Queen
“So he’s still inside the city walls somewhere,” Merlin said. “Three guesses where.”
Arthur gave a snort. “I don’t need even one guess. I know.”
Bedwyr straightened up. “Let me put a bandage round your chest. That’s got to sting.”
For a moment it seemed Arthur might refuse, but then common sense must have taken over, because he gave a shrug and nodded. He stood fidgeting impatiently while Bedwyr expertly sloshed alcohol onto the narrow wound, then applied a bandage.
Anwyll looked down at the three bloody corpses. “What do we do with them?”
Good point. Not to mention all the blood.
Merlin chuckled.Men. I had the distinct impression they were treating this like some kind of game.
He gave the nearest body a kick. “Well, whatever they intended, they’ve failed. I very much doubt anyone’ll be back tonight. That last assassin’s probably run home to tell his master the plan went wrong, or he’s legged it– afraid of the trouble he’ll be in for failing. Let’s put the bodies in that storeroom in the corner for now, and get some sleep.” He peered up into the sky, that seemed to be lightening a little in the east. At last. “We’ve an hour or two left before dawn.”
Arthur yawned. “We’ll get the servants to clear this mess up in the morning. And we’ll get to the bottom of who told them how to find us.” He caught my hand. “Bed.”
Bed? He wanted me to go to bed and forget all this until the morning? As though it hadn’t happened, and we didn’t have three dead bodies stuffed in a store shed?
Merlin nodded to Anwyll and Morfran. “Best stand guard right outside the king’s door.”
Pulling me to my feet, Arthur slung an arm around my shoulders. His body was as cold as mine. I shivered, and he tightened his hold. The thought of sleeping in the bed that had been stabbed so many times didnotseem attractive, and nor did that bloody smear our assassin had left in our doorway.
“Come on,” Arthur said, voice suddenly gentle. “Rest’s what you need. And warmth.” He gave himself a shake. “It’s bloody cold out here.”
He lit a candle at Merlin’s lamp and nodded to Morfran and Anwyll as they took up their sentry positions on either side of the door. Still holding me close, he ushered me back inside our devastated room. The circle of flickering candlelight revealed broken chairs and the table lying on its side, and plunged the corners into unquiet shadows.
Averting my eyes from the threshold as Arthur shut the door behind us, I pulled my blood-stained clothes off with alacrity and threw them on the floor. The cold inside the room bit at my naked body but I couldn’t get into bed until I’d sponged myself off with a cloth. Even cold and dirty water was better than getting into bed covered in someone else’s dried blood.
Arthur found me a clean undershirt and we lay down on the bed, him still in his braccae, holding me tight against his body. Slowly, warmth returned to my limbs, and the trembling lessened. But I couldn’t sleep, and plainly neither could he. Morning was a long time coming.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“You can’t lethim get away with it again,” I said, hands on hips and glaring at Arthur and Merlin. We were in the center of the courtyard while our horrified servants carried the bodies away and cleaned up the rather copious amounts of blood. We’d done a head count of the villa staff that morning, and only one was missing– the cook’s boy, Nyle, who harbored ambitions to become a warrior. Perhaps a giveaway that he’d been somehow involved. The city magistrate, a man named Leudocus, was already on his way.
Arthur glared back at me. “What do you want us to say to Leudocus, then? That we think his king sent these men to kill us? To murder me, the High King?”
I nodded. “Yes. You should say it. Because you know it was him.”
“And what proof do we have that it was?” Merlin asked, more gently than my husband. “What proof will you show Leudocus when he arrives?”
I heaved a breath. “But we know it was him. He’s tried before. You said yourselves it wasn’t Caw.”
Arthur gave a wry grin. “True. Apart from anything else, Caw isn’t likely to have used sneaky methods like nighttime assassins. If he wanted me dead, he’d come right out with it, and attack us outside the walls. But I doubt he’d do that as it goes against the agreement we’ve all signed up to– our pact of non aggression at the Council.”
“Cadwy clearly doesn’t feel bound by it,” I snapped. “And unless he’s punished, he’ll try again.”
“Punished?” Arthur’s dark brows rose. “How do you envisage punishing him? A king? He’s the law here, whatever you think his magistrate stands for. Leudocus is Cadwy’s man, and he’ll do what Cadwy says. And besides, I don’t want us to be at each other’s throats. It’s not good for Britain.”
“But you’re the High King,” I protested, seething at the injustice of this. “Suppose you’d been killed? What would have happened then? That’s what he wanted. Why he sent those men here. One of them nearly killedme, for God’s sake. Their aim was to kill you.”
“If I’d been killed, then there’d have been a Council held and someone else would have claimed my throne, and perhaps my sword. I doubt Cadwy would have got it. He’d have been the most obvious suspect.”
I walked away from them, fists balled by my sides. How could they be so matter of fact about this? I’d spent the few hours we’d had in bed going over what had happened in my mind and how close we’d come to death. And now there seemed to be little we could do to punish the man behind these would-be assassins.
Anwyll appeared from where he’d been stationed guarding the doors into the courtyard. “Leudocus, Milord King.” He stepped back, and a small, spare man in a below-the-knee cream robe stepped into the courtyard.
About fifty, with a long, lugubrious face and a not-very-successful comb-over, he advanced on Arthur, rubbing his hands together like Lady Macbeth trying to get that “damned spot” off them. Intent on washing his hands of our problem, most likely. And us, too.
