Page 19 of The Dragon Ring
The rain of the day before had vanished, leaving the fortress sparkling, but wet. There were people everywhere.
I stood on the threshold, trying to take in a prospect that assaulted every sense. The steady rhythm of a hammer striking metal in a blacksmith’s forge pierced the morning. A cockerel, probably the one I’d heard when I’d woken, crowed proudly on top of a steaming midden. A group of children played a noisy game of chase between a row of granaries, and busy men and women bustled everywhere, through the mud and along the paved roadways. As they saw me, their faces creased in wide smiles and their heads bobbed in little bows.
To my left lay a long, low, open-fronted building, smelling strongly of horses. Beyond it, the glow of a forge told me that was the source of the sounds of the blacksmith working. On my right, thatched buildings clustered round a small courtyard, where a stout woman I recognized as one of Cottia’s daughters was sweeping out her front door. Inside another door I caught sight of a woman at a loom, her hands darting swiftly back and forth. A tabby cat, perhaps the one that had spent the night with me, sinuously curled itself about the loom’s feet.
Looking down the slope toward the main gateway, I saw its massive gates standing closed once again. To each side, a thick stone-revetted platform ran around the walls beneath the wooden crenellations, providing a wide and solid walkway for the guards. The watery morning sunlight glinted on their chainmail shirts. South Cadbury Castle was certainly well fortified, just as my father had surmised it would be. A flush of satisfaction for him swept over me.
Turning my back on the main gates, I set off northwards over the brow of the plateau, the possibility of scouting out a means of escape foremost in my mind. The cobbled road led diagonally in the direction of where I knew the lesser, north-eastern entrance should lie, the entrance people used in my time.
I passed houses, barns, stables and workshops clustered about the roadside, small fields and animal pens jumbled behind them in no apparent order. Stacks of hay and straw and piles of firewood stood up against open fronted barns, and storehouses sat safe from rats on mushroom-shaped staddle stones.
An empty wagon leaned drunkenly outside a wide-open building, its shafts resting in the mud, one wheel off and propped up against the wall. A thickset, red-maned man was working at a primitive lathe, fashioning on a new spoke for it. Peering in as I passed, I saw that two men sat waiting for him inside, taking their ease on a couple of large log seats. They glanced up, and recognizing me, tugged their shaggy forelocks in deference. Flustered, I hurried on down the slope.
Wherever I went, people’s heads turned to watch me. I braced my back and held my head up high, striding out as though I owned the place, advice my father had once given me when I was nervous. The long tunic, and the cloak Cottia had finished my ensemble with, swished as I walked.
It was a pity I didn’t have a camera. Wait a minute– I did. My phone. It was still with my coat, though, drying in front of Cottia’s fire. I might not be able to phone Nathan, but at least I could take pictures. However, the longer it was out of my possession, the more the battery would be running flat, and once dead I had no way to charge it.
A large part of me still believed this was going to come to an end, and that at some point I’d be going home. Photos would come in very useful when I had to explain where I’d been. Which was Cottia’s house? Probably close to the Great Hall as she’d got to it so quickly last night. Maybe in the courtyard where I’d seen her daughter. Close toherArthur.
I reached the north-eastern entrance to find it as impressive, though on a smaller scale, as the main gatehouse. Here, one of the robust double wooden gates stood open, allowing the passage of people in and out. Armed guards stood to either side of it and above it on the wall-walk.
I approached the ones on the ground. A man, roughly but warmly dressed, had just gone out through the gates carrying a hoe, its metal blade gleaming with newness. Maybe he’d been to the smith to get it mended. I decided to follow him. The guard, who’d allowed the man to pass unhindered, stepped into my path.
“Sorry, Milady, it’s not safe to wander out the gates. Merlin’s orders.” He was gruff voiced and rough looking, but the kindness in his dark eyes gave the lie to his demeanor. I stopped. I could hardly walk through him, and a struggle to get out would be one I’d lose and would be embarrassing.
“I only wanted to see what’s outside,” I said, aware that I sounded petulant.
There was relief in his eyes. Had Merlin warned him I might try to make a run for it?
“Sorry, Milady, but orders is orders.”
But what was outside that was so dangerous? Considering how insecure I felt inside the walls of the fortress, I was inclined to think that outside couldn’t be much worse. But I could see it would be no use arguing. His face was set with an immovable determination. I turned away from the gate. Maybe it would be easier to sneak out at night under cover of darkness? What I would do if I did get out I had no idea, as it was a good ten miles through unknown wintry countryside to Glastonbury. It was rather a silly plan, really, as I couldn’t get back by myself through those endless marshes into Ynys Witrin. But it was the only plan I had so far if I wanted to avoid ending up as Arthur’s wife.
I climbed the wooden steps to the wall-walk and stood looking out across the plain. As the cold wind snatched at my cloak, I drew it closer about myself. Below, the plain lay scattered with farms, and in the far distance, beyond the darkness of winter forest that began where the farmsteads finished, the little hump of Glastonbury Tor rose out of a sea of mist.
I didn’t know how long I’d been standing there, staring out at the familiar, yet unfamiliar landscape, when my reverie was interrupted.
“Gwen?”
I turned my head. Merlin stood on the wall-walk a few feet away.
Looking him up and down with as much scorn as I could muster, I asked, “Come to gloat?”
He shook his head. This morning he was smartly dressed in a deep red tunic over dark trousers and a fur lined cloak fastened with a heavy golden brooch of a bird in flight. A merlin falcon.
“I think you’ve got a lot of explaining to do.” I fixed him with my hardest stare. He deserved it. He’d ducked out of it the night before, but I’d had a whole extra half-a-day to think about my situation, and I was full of questions.
“What is it you want to know? I’ll answer your questions if I can.” He moved closer and leaned on the parapet beside me, staring out toward the Tor. His eyes narrowed in the feeble sunshine. The smell of lavender on his clothing was strong. I’d read once somewhere that it repelled lice and fleas.
“What am I doing here?” I asked. “What are you really playing at?”
He smiled. “Fulfilling your destiny.”
I bristled. “Talking about destiny is a load of bollocks. I’m not meant to be here, and I know it’s got something to do with you that I am. You need to take me back home right now, before things get any more complicated. I have a boyfriend in my world who loves me. He’ll be looking for me.”
He turned his head. I tried to read his expression but couldn’t. Was he on my side? Was he working against me? Common sense inclined me to think the latter.
“The man you were with, in your world, isn’t important. Here, you’re destined to be a queen.”
