Page 50 of The Dragon Ring
As one, the rest of the assembled men bowed to Arthur.
The pink-faced man released Arthur and stood back, looking him up and down as though comparing the boy he used to know with the man before him.
“It’s been too long since we saw you here in Viroconium. Although I hear you’ve been acquitting yourself well in the west. Where is it you’re based? Din Cadan, isn’t it? A primitive backwater, I’ve heard.”
“Dubricius, it’s good to see you, too.” Arthur gave a quick, forced smile. But his attention wasn’t on the older man, his eyes were sweeping the room, searching. For his father? Or his brother?
Merlin leaned toward me and whispered in my ear. “Dubricius, archbishop of Caer Legeion, to the south. He’ll be here to give the King the last rites and officiate at the burial ceremony.” He paused. “And crown the new High King.”
Of course. They were all Christians. Yet there was nothing whatsoever of holiness about this archbishop.
“My father? He still lives?” There was strain in Arthur’s voice, and his dark brows were drawn together in a heavy frown.
Dubricius nodded. “He’s weak. But he holds his own.” He paused. “You and your men have come far. Allow me to provide you with food and drink. You will want to rest before you see your father.”
Arthur frowned. “I’ll see my father before I do anything else.”
Dubricius’ face changed as his pale grey eyes narrowed. “I believe your father to be sleeping now, and the doctor’s instructions are that he is not to be disturbed.” There was an edge to his voice, of impatience, of anger even.
Arthur must have known Dubricius of old. His lips came together in a hard line. His hand started to tap his leg.
“I have a healer with me,” he said very clearly. “She needs to see him. Now.”
Did he mean me?
Dubricius, who’d been standing resolutely in front of Arthur, took a step back.
“A healer? A woman? I did not know. But she will be no help, I fear. It’s too late for healers.”
The archbishop needed to make up his mind. Either there was no hurry for Arthur to see his father, who was holding his own, or he was so bad it was too late for the intervention of a healer. From my point of view, as the prospective healer, I would have preferred the latter option.
“Then don’t stand here passing the time of day,” Arthur said. “Take me to him at once.”
A second grey-haired man stepped out of the crowd and made a small bow. He was tall but still powerfully built, just a little pot belly that hung over the belt of his tunic betraying his age. “My Prince, you will not remember me. Euddolen of Rheged. I’ve been your father’s Seneschal these last five years. Allow me to escort you to the royal bedchamber. Your father will want to see you straight away, I’m certain.”
“Cadwy won’t,” muttered Cei, in an aside only I heard.
Arthur reached out a hand and took my wrist. “I’m taking her. She’s the healer.”
Did he think I was a miracle worker who could save a dying man? If he did, he was about to be sorely disappointed.
“And my men.” He gestured at Merlin, Theodoric and Cei, and the warriors who’d come in with us. It wasn’t a request. It was an order. Dubricius opened his mouth to object, but it was too late. Too late for him and too late for me.
Reluctantly, I allowed myself to be led away as we followed Euddolen across the atrium, which was crowded with important-looking men whose heads turned as we passed. A fountain played in the center under a square of open sky. Then we were out into a large courtyard filled with greenery and surrounded on all four sides by a colonnaded walkway. More guards, in fact, guards at every turn, and tiles underfoot and faded paintings on the plastered walls. I smelled rosemary and mint on the damp evening air and saw wood smoke curling up into the darkening sky. My heart filled with disquiet.
The royal bedchamber lay halfway down one side.
At the double oak doors, Euddolen and Arthur stopped. Arthur still had me by the wrist, but now he transferred his hold to my hand. His was hard and calloused, the grip firm. He wasn’t about to let me go. I didn’t find the contact in any way reassuring.
Euddolen knocked on the doors.
For a moment there was silence. Then one of the doors creaked open a crack and a wrinkled face peered out.
“Who is it?” asked the ancient owner of the face, squinting at us shortsightedly. It was impossible to say if it was male or female.
“Euddolen, Seneschal to the High King. I bring Prince Arthur to see his father.”
The old face sucked its gums ruminatively.
