Page 40 of The Dragon Ring
With the sun already descending toward the west, we passed the ruins of Caer Ceri, modern Cirencester. It was in an even worse state than Caer Baddan. Only the amphitheater outside the tumble-down walls seemed occupied, where crude huts clustered both inside and out. Armed men climbed up onto the walls to watch us ride by, in stony, brooding silence. I was glad we weren’t stopping there for the night.
As the pale sun slid behind the high Welsh hills in the west, we came upon our second night’s accommodation. It was a ruined way station, bigger than the one we’d passed the day before, but in just as bad a state.
We drew up in front of it, and everyone but me dismounted. My heart sank into my boots. There wasn’t even a roof. Remaining on my horse, I looked toward where Arthur stood with Cei and Theodoric, surveying the jumble of stones and rank grass.
“This’ll have to do,” Arthur said. “We’ve had worse bivouacs. Needs must.”
Theodoric led his horse through the entrance, which might have once been an archway, but now was nothing but fallen stones. Still mounted, I trailed in last, with Merlin walking by my side, leading his horse.
The roof of the old stables had fallen in, but with some work the beams were cleared, and we tethered our horses in the old stalls for the night. Leather nosebags came out, filled with grain, and soon they were hungrily eating their evening feed.
The men set up makeshift tents in no time and soon had a fire burning in what had once been the inn itself. The wood lying about from the roofs made a satisfying blaze. Cold meat and bread came out as we sat on our saddle bags around the fire, and the warriors passed a wineskin from man to man.
Thoughts of my brother sprang into my head, and how we used to camp out in our back garden when we were children. My father had let us do pretty much what we wanted, so we’d had fires and cooked baked beans and sausages and flour dampers. Where was he now? Would Nathan have contacted him when I didn’t turn up? He’d be the only one of our family left. All alone.
“What’re you thinking about?” Arthur had got up to throw another length of wood on the fire, and now he sat down beside me. “You look sad.”
It was the first time he’d really acknowledged me since we’d left Din Cadan.
Taken aback, I told him the truth. “About my brother.”
Across the fire, Merlin watched us.
“What’s his name?” Arthur asked.
“Artie– Arthur, like you.” I couldn’t tell him Artie was named after him, could I?
“That’s a coincidence. I’ve never met another Arthur.”
That’s because you’re the first, I thought, but didn’t say so.
“I’ve never met another Guinevere.” Tit for tat. There certainly weren’t many Guineveres about in twenty-first-century Britain, although there were a lot of Arthurs. Since my brother was born, it had become quite fashionable.
“Why’re you sad, then? Where’s your brother?”
“Far away.” A lump rose in my throat. “I don’t think I’ll ever see him again.”
The wineskin came around again and he took a long pull, then passed it on to me. I wiped its mouth and took a generous swig. It was strong red wine, so I took a second swallow then passed it to the man beside me.
Arthur shrugged. “You may see him one day. He may come to Din Cadan. Many men do.”
I shook my head. “He’s too far away. And I think I can never go back and see him.”
“You care for your brother?”
I nodded. “My parents are dead. He’s the only family I’ve got.”
He smiled wryly. “I care for my brother Cei, but not my brother Cadwy. If I never saw him again, it would be too soon. But he’s going to be at Viroconium when we get there.”
“Will that be so bad?”
“Probably. He hates me. He won’t be pleased Theodoric’s fetched me. He’ll have wanted to keep my father’s imminent death to himself. The better to ensure his inheritance.”
“And what do you want?”
He shifted a little. The flames of the fire leapt up toward the inky sky. On the far side, one of the men, a wiry little fellow with spiky short brown hair and brown skin, fetched a flute out of his saddle bags and began to play. The haunting music filled the quiet of the night with plaintive notes. The fire crackled and a log hissed. I could have been in our old back garden with Artie, only the music then would have been his guitar.
“What do I want?” he repeated. “I’m not sure. I know what I don’t want, though. I don’t want Cadwy to be voted the next High King. That would be a huge mistake.”
