Page 21 of The Dragon Ring
I looked back up the slope at the dark hump of the Great Hall’s roof while I searched for what I wanted. “Everything. Where he was born, where he grew up, what he’s like now. You’re planning I should marry him, it’s the least you can do.”
Who would swerve the opportunity to find out more about the real King Arthur? What wouldn’t my father have given for such a chance. I might as well seize it with both hands. The knowledge would be useful if I met Arthur, if– perish the thought– I had to marry him, but also if I made it back to my world.
A buzzard mewed in the sky overhead, soaring on the wind against the tattered clouds. I pulled my cloak more closely about myself and reflected that coats with sleeves and zipped or buttoned fronts were a useful invention.
“His father is King Uthyr Pendragon, High King of all Britain. Arthur’s family have worn the purple, but he boasts British blood as well as Roman. Through his father’s mother, he can trace his line back to Cunedda of the Votadini, who once ruled north of the Wall, but whose descendants now hold power in Gwynnedd and Ceredigion in the far west, keeping the Irish at bay. Through them he has blood ties with most of Britain’s ruling families.”
Interesting as that all was, it didn’t tell me much about Arthur himself.
“Who was his mother? This Cornish woman?”
“Eigr.” Merlin smiled as though a memory stirred him. “She was wife to Gorlois of Tintagel, with a small son, Cei. Gorlois unwisely brought her to the Council of the Kings of Britain.”
“Uthyr fell in love with her,” I said, filling in the story I knew, and hoping I was getting it right. “And when Gorlois went back to Cornwall, Uthyr followed.”
Merlin looked surprised. “You know already?”
I shrugged. “Probably. I’ve no idea how much is true, though. Gorlois was killed and Uthyr took Eigr as his wife, and Arthur was born.”
Merlin nodded. “Uthyr had put aside his first wife, a Saxon princess named Aelfled, so nothing prevented him taking Eigr to wife but Gorlois. It was well her husband died in battle, but some still whisper that in taking another man’s wife, Uthyr did wrong and that’s why he’s afflicted now.”
“Afflicted? What’s wrong with him?”
Merlin frowned. “The High King took a wound in battle some years ago. At first it seemed to heal, but then it broke open anew, and now nothing will heal it. His whole leg is ulcerated, and he has to ride in a litter. Some say he shouldn’t still be High King if he can’t straddle a horse and lead his warriors into battle.”
“Who leads his army, then?”
“Prince Cadwy, his son by Aelfled. Cadwy is King of Powys and Dumnonia in all but name.”
“And Arthur?” We were back to him again. “Is he a good man?” Might a Dark Age warrior be judged on a different scale to a man from the twenty-first century?
Merlin smiled. “Arthur is a good man. He’s a strong and brave warrior, who’s killed many a foe in battle. He’s a fair judge of men, he’s kind to his women and his horses, and has learned wisdom in all his dealings.”
I guessed that was a fair summing up, but then, Merlin was biased. I had an urge to ask what Arthur looked like, but I refrained. Instead, I turned back to gaze out again over the wooded plain. Rain clouds were scudding in from the west, dark and threatening. The day was not going to stay dry for long.
Merlin pushed himself off the wooden wall. “Walk with me,” he said, taking my arm and guiding me along the walkway. I went with him, the sharp wind whipping loose tendrils of my hair across my face.
To our right, the little fields of the fortress reached almost as far as the wall, fenced with woven hurdles around vegetable patches, or banks and thorny hedges and rough-hewn posts and rails to keep livestock in. Between where we were walking and the small fields ran a narrow strip of land pockmarked with hoof prints. A place to exercise horses, perhaps.
Beneath a darkening sky we reached another small gateway facing due east. A cobbled road led up from it toward the Great Hall, flanked on both sides by more houses and workshops. I was surprised by how much was crammed into the eighteen acres lying inside the walls.
My footsteps slowed and I came to a halt, surveying the hive of industry spread out before me. Hard to imagine the deserted green farmland of my time with only a few cows to be seen between the still high grassy banks, where once these soldiers had stood. Were standing right now.
Every time I thought about what had happened to me, I felt confused and flustered. Best not to think of it too much.
“Who refortified this place?” I asked, to take my mind off my thoughts.
Merlin’s grip tightened on my arm, encouraging me forward. “Uthyr, initially.” He quickened his pace as a few drops of rain spattered around us. “Then it fell to Arthur to finish the work he’d started. Before Uthyr’s brother, Ambrosius, became High King, under Guorthegirn the Usurper, we still had the old Roman towns, just as they’d been for centuries. But the rot was already there, like a canker waiting to find the weakest spot.” He hurried me on.
“When Uthyr took over from his brother twenty years ago, everything had changed from when their father ruled before Guorthegirn. A lot can happen in fifty years. A lot. The people in the East had fled from the Saxon threat. They’d abandoned their towns. Now there’s nothing left there but haunted ruins and heathen villages, and we in the West live in the old hillforts just as our ancestors did.”
“Iron Age hillforts,” I put in.
He raised a puzzled eyebrow. Too late, I realized the Iron Age was a name coined by historians long after his time. Choosing not to comment, he went on. “These forts were built by our ancestors long before the legions came. Even though none of us can claim to possess blood untainted by the Empire, they’re still our ancestral homes.” He gestured to the sizeable wall. “And as they’re smaller and usually on high ground, they can be defended far more easily than a sprawling town.”
I was fascinated, despite myself. He was a walking history lesson, and I wanted to learn. There was a lot of my father in me.
More raindrops fell now, splatting onto the walkway. I pulled the hood of my cloak up over my head. “How far have the Saxons progressed? How much of Britain have they taken?”
