Page 57 of The Dragon Ring
Down the sides were ranged all the men I’d seen the night before, and more besides, as well as Arthur’s own men, with a few women scattered amongst them. To one side of the throne stood Arthur and Morgana. He’d changed his clothes and shaved, and his dark hair was brushed back from his face, but nothing could disguise the shadows of exhaustion beneath his eyes. Had he slept at all? The smell of smoke from the lamps and the stink of men’s sweat pressed in on me.
I looked quickly at Gwalchmei by my side. “Is Uthyr dead?” I whispered. He gave a brief nod. I knew what that meant– Cadwy was now king in his place. That didn’t feel like a good thing.
“You must go and pay your respects to the new King,” he whispered back. “Walk to the foot of the dais. Bow to him. He is Lord of Viroconium now.”
Bowing to anyone comes as difficult to a twenty-first-century girl, and I was no exception. I might have felt more willing to do so if I’d thought Cadwy in any way merited it, but I didn’t. From what I’d seen of him, he was little more than a spiteful thug and a bully. He’d tried to intercept our party and kidnap me, he’d wanted to prevent Arthur from marrying me last night, and he was brim full of aggression and jealousy that was directed at my new husband.
My husband. I looked down the hall at Arthur. I didn’t really feel as though we were married. Our eyes met. His solemn face softened a little. He winked.
What?
I blinked. Had I imagined it?
Gwalchmei took my cloak, revealing my hair spilling down my back.
“Go on.” He gave me a slight push.
I began to walk toward the throne, my footsteps loud on the mosaic floor. A murmur of surprise echoed through the throng, and heads on all sides turned to look at me. Most of them had already seen me the night before, but then I’d been in dirty braccae and tunic, looking like a grubby boy. Now I was all woman, and I knew it. The knowledge gave me confidence and I stepped out proudly, head held high, my long hair rippling down my back.
On the dais Cadwy rose to his feet, and Morgana’s look of bewilderment was quickly replaced by one of consternation. But the one I was paying most attention to was Arthur. He didn’t take his eyes off me as I reached the dais and then dropped to one knee before Cadwy, as gracefully as I could, my head bowed, my hair hanging about me in a curtain.
I remained there, unmoving, waiting. It worked. Cadwy came down the three steps from the dais, and, taking my hand, raised me to my feet. The gold dragon ring shone on my finger. He couldn’t fail to have noticed it.
“So, the Lady of the Ring is here amongst us,” he said, as though he’d never seen me before. “The one foretold by the wisemen of the Usurper.” He turned me to face the assembly. My heart beat so hard in my chest, surely he would hear it.
To my left, Archbishop Dubricius stood with Euddolen the Seneschal. To my right, in the crowd, I’d already spotted Cei and Theodoric, the latter standing beside a small, heavily pregnant young woman. I was glad to see the now familiar faces of Arthur’s other men scattered amongst the rest of the crowd.
Cadwy ushered me to the left-hand side of his throne, away from Arthur and Morgana.
“You are welcome here, my Lady of the Ring, and by the ancient laws of hospitality, my home shall be as yours.”
Releasing my hand, he returned to his throne, leaving me standing there alone. I felt very exposed and vulnerable.
Euddolen stepped forward and made a bow to the throne. With a flourish, he drew a scroll out of the front of his long robe. “If I may speak?” He looked at Cadwy for permission. The King inclined his head, clearly puzzled at this interruption.
“I have here the last testament of High King Uthyr,” the Seneschal announced, holding the scroll above his head for all to see.
A muffled murmur went round the chamber. Cadwy’s scowl darkened. Dubricius looked furtive. Morgana’s dark eyes narrowed. Cei’s huge face broke into a toothy smile. Theodoric held the little pregnant woman closer to his side. Only Arthur’s face remained unmoved. He was clearly not surprised and neither were his men.
Euddolen looked expectantly at Cadwy. He was waiting for his permission to read out the testament. Was it the same as a will? Was it as binding as a modern will would be?
Cadwy looked very much as though he would like to refuse. However, he gave a short nod to Euddolen, his face a picture of suppressed anger. Had he thought his father had died without leaving any kind of instructions? It looked as though that might be so.
Euddolen turned to face the crowded chamber. The aisle that had been left for me to walk up, closed, and the people surged forwards in their eagerness to hear what he had to say. The Seneschal raised his right hand, and they subsided, silence falling.
He unrolled the scroll. It wasn’t long, and from where I stood I could see it held less than a dozen lines of close writing. Whatever Uthyr had decided, it looked as though it might be concise and to the point.
Euddolen began to read. His strong, clear voice carried across the heads of the assembly.
“I, Uthyr Pendragon, King of Powys at Viroconium, King of Dumnonia at Din Cadan, High King of all Britain by the grace of the Council of Britain, son of Ambrosius Aurelianus, last Emperor of the Western World, grandson of the Emperor Constantine, being sick unto death, yet of sound mind, do decree the following.” He paused for effect. Everyone hung on his words.
“Having to my certain knowledge got two sons on my two wives, I own paternity of them both. I therefore invoke the customs of old.” A communal indrawn gasp shivered through his audience. Presumably they had some intimation of what that meant. Unlike me.
“I divide my kingdoms as my forefathers did, before the Legions came. I give to my sons, in equal part, the kingdoms of Powys and Dumnonia. To Cadwy, the elder, I give Powys and Viroconium. To Arthur, the younger, I give Dumnonia and Din Cadan. May they rule them wisely and well.” He looked over the top of the scroll. “He signs it with his own hand, Uthyr Pendragon.”
The crowd erupted. I looked at Cadwy. He gripped the arms of his throne with whitened knuckles, and his face suffused with dark color. He hadn’t been expecting this. His territory was effectively halved. Dubricius pushed his way to Euddolen’s side to seize the scroll and scrutinize it closely, as though he suspected it might be a forgery. From his place beside his sister, Arthur met my eyes, a wicked sparkle in his own. He’d known. He’d been expecting this.
From within the crowd, voices rose above the din. “Long live our kings!”
