Page 88 of Warrior Queen
Arthur sat silent, staring at his brother, waiting.
Cadwy faced him, hands on his hips, defiant. Oh yes, he was aware that we knew what he’d done, and could do nothing about it. Had he agreed to come here so he could gloat?
The silence stretched. No noise came from outside. The sound of my heart thudded in my ears. The tension in the air sang.
It got to Cadwy first. “Well,” he growled. “Why have you requested my presence?”
Arthur’s wry smile didn’t reach his eyes. “To call a truce.”
What? I couldn’t stop my head whipping round to stare at him.
Cadwy looked as surprised as I was. His eyes went to Merlin’s face, perhaps suspecting him of being behind this. “A truce?”
Arthur’s hands on the arms of his throne tensed. “Yes. A truce. I am High King, and you are not. Nothing you can do will change that.” He paused, presumably to let the implication sink in. “But there is something you can change.”
Cadwy’s piggy eyes narrowed in his fleshy face. “What?” Suspicion, aggression, anger, scorn– that one word held everything he felt about his younger brother.
I gripped the arms of my chair, holding my breath.
“Britain is an island,” Arthur said. “Once, it was a province ruled by Rome. The legions protected it, ruled it, united it. When they left, it fell apart into countless small kingdoms. Now, we are independent and have the Council of Kings, whereas before we had the iron rod of the distant rule of Rome. But what good is a council of any sort if the members fight each other instead of the common enemy?”
Cadwy’s brows lowered even further, shadowing his eyes.
Arthur tapped the fingers of his right hand on the arm of his throne. How close was he to showing his true feelings and losing his temper? “If you and I fight, then we set a bad example to the lesser kings. You are one of the most important kings in Britain. As am I. We must lead by example– show the rest that personal vendettas have no place if we are to protect our island from invaders.”
I studied Cadwy’s face, but it was impossible to divine his feelings about this statement. Would he see sense and agree? Was he man enough to accept the olive branch Arthur was offering? He stayed silent.
Arthur sighed. “I know it was you who sent assassins to this house in the early hours of this morning. You hoped to rid yourself of not just a brother you’ve always hated but a High King you have no desire to accept. I understand. It’s natural in a man to want more than he has.”
What?
For a moment Arthur set his teeth on his bottom lip as though to prevent himself saying something he might regret later. I did the same, wanting to shout out loud and accuse Cadwy of being a would-be murderer many times over. But a king was the highest authority here, apart from the High King, and it seemed you couldn’t accuse him of any crime.
Cadwy shifted uneasily, perhaps wishing he’d insisted on bringing in some of his men. The fingers of his left hand, still on his hip, touched the pommel of his sword as though he’d like to draw it. Outnumbered four to one, he didn’t.
Arthur leaned forward in his throne. “I have no love for you, Brother. No more than you have for me, I suspect. But we fought a fair fight for this sword.” He touched his own blade’s hilt. “And I won. And with it came the High Kingship that was foretold for me even before I was born. I am the red dragon, Brother, the hammer of the Saxons. It is I who will drive the invaders back and bring peace to our island, as it was long ago prophesied.” He reached out a hand and touched my shoulder. “I have the Ring Maiden by my side. I have the Sword of Destiny in my hand. I have the High Kingship. But what I want, and need, is an alliance with you.”
I schooled my face into equanimity, my hands clasped tightly in my lap. Was this a wise thing to ask of someone as sneaky and underhanded as Cadwy? But there was that old adage– keep your friends close and your enemies closer still. Was this what Arthur wanted? Cadwy as a close ally?
Cadwy finally spoke. “An alliance?” His voice rumbled out, gruff and deep, and slightly accusatory.
Arthur nodded. “We are both powerful kings. You have a central position here at Viroconium, sheltered from most incursions made by raiders, safe from the threat of colonization by Saxons in search of new lands. At least it is for now. But how long will it be before they reach further west? How long before your lands, like parts of Coel’s, are annexed by the Yellow Hairs?”
I bit my lip at his prophetic words. That he guessed what was inevitably to come tore at my heart.
“My kingdom is safe,” Cadwy said. “My city walls will keep invaders out.”
“For how long?” Arthur asked.
For answer, Cadwy glowered at him.
Arthur sighed again. “I don’t want to fight you, Brother. I want to fight the enemies of Britain. I want to defeat them and send them packing, tails between their legs. I need you on my side, not against me. Just as Cerdic now is.” He paused. “What do you say?”
Cadwy glanced over his shoulder at Anwyll by the door, then back at Arthur. “And if I don’t agree, what then? Will I walk free from this room, or will you have your men kill me? Be warned, I won’t go down without a fight.” His right hand touched his sword hilt in threat.
Arthur shook his head. “If you don’t agree, you will walk free from here.” He smiled ruefully. “I’m not you, Brother. I didn’t call you here to threaten you, but to ask you for your help in defending our island. I hope you will agree.”
Cadwy lowered his hand. “And what assurances do you demand?”
