Page 64 of The Dragon Ring
Outside the door, I called out. “Lann, it’s me, Gwen. I’ve come for Morgawse.”
After a moment Lann answered me, but he didn’t unbar the door. “Did ee get ’elp, milady?” His voice was muffled, and afraid.
“It’s all right,” I said, as reassuringly as I could. “I’ve got King Arthur with me.” As soon as I said his name– his proper name– I realized with a jolt how strange it sounded coming out of my mouth. When he’d been a prince it hadn’t felt quite real, as though the stories I knew of his future couldn’t apply to him. Now he was a king, all those stories suddenly hung on his name like lead weights dragging him down. And me with him.
The thumps of Lann unbarring the door sounded, and then it swung open. His ruddy face paled when he saw how many heavily armed warriors were standing outside.
Theodoric barged in before anyone, pushing Lann rudely to one side, and hurried to Morgawse, who was sitting on a bed Karstyn had made for her on flour sacks. The girl burst into floods of tears and flung her arms around his neck like an octopus enveloping its prey.
To do him justice, Theodoric was all consideration and concern, but I couldn’t get the thought of him with the doxies out of my head. However, Morgawse’s small, pale face was wreathed in smiles as she showed him the baby, wrapped in some cloths Karstyn had found for her.
Arthur followed Theodoric inside, and so did I.
He looked at Karstyn. “Can she be moved?”
She bobbed a respectful bow to him. He was a king, after all. “She be an ’ealthy young leddy, milord King. An’ the babby be the same. I’d say twas safe to move ’er.” She glanced toward the doorway where the other warriors were peering inside. “Safer than for ’er to stay ’ere, that’s for certain.”
Arthur nodded to Theodoric. “Fetch her.” Then he looked down at me. “And you, come with me.” Before I could stop him he grabbed me by the wrist again and pulled me after him out of the kitchen. I was angry– again– but I’d only look foolish if I struggled, so I went with him.
“Where are we going?” I asked, but was ignored.
Behind us, Theodoric lifted Morgawse as though she were light as a feather and carried her and the baby with us, back through the still deserted courtyard of the Imperial Palace, through the atrium and the vestibulum, and out into the street. I hurried in Arthur’s wake, having to almost run to keep up with his longer strides, the wet folds of my bloody gown flapping round my legs uncomfortably.
In the street, we came upon the rest of Arthur’s force, which by now was considerable in number and filled the roadway. All of them were on foot: the warriors from Din Cadan whom I vaguely knew, Eudaf’s City Guard, recognizable by their red cloaks, and a number of other supporters from Viroconium, mainly men of Arthur’s age or younger. Some of them just boys.
When the men saw Theodoric cradling Morgawse and the baby in his arms, a great cheer went up, as though this event was the icing on the cake to their success. The baby began to cry lustily, and Theodoric’s face was a grin of pride from ear to ear.
Arthur raised the hand that was holding mine into the air. “The Lady of the Ring!” he shouted. “The Queen of Dumnonia, as the prophecy foretold!” Another great cheer went up, and before I could stop him, Arthur swung me deftly into his arms, pressing my body against his chainmail shirt, and his mouth came down on mine.
For a second, I froze with surprise. Then anger took over, and I struggled in his arms, but there was nothing I could do to escape. His mouth was hard on mine, the smell of his masculinity all about me. A treacherous hot feeling slithered through my body and my knees felt weak. Just as I’d decided it was actually very nice to be kissed like this by an undeniably attractive king, after a bloody battle, he released me. The cheer was deafening.
He didn’t seem to notice that he’d left me flustered and breathless.
“To Domus Albus!” Arthur shouted above the din.
I was swept up in the victorious march, bowled along like a piece of driftwood on the tide of men, the only woman there but for Morgawse.
After the triumph of the baby’s safe delivery– and that kiss– I was seized by an impulse to shout and wave my arms in the air in jubilation, which wasn’t at all like me. The excitement got into my very soul, exposing a long-hidden side I’d never known existed. An inner, more primitive side that the Dark Ages were bringing to life. I wasn’t the same woman who’d climbed Glastonbury Tor to scatter her father’s ashes just a week ago.
Chapter Eighteen
The Domus Albus,Euddolen’s house, stood on the western side of the city, close by the walls which overlooked the riverfront wharves.
All along the narrow streets, people peered out cautiously as we passed. Here and there the bravest inhabitants came out to stand in the road raising sporadic cheering and cries of “Long live King Arthur!” Even though he’d been gone from Viroconium for years, he’d not been forgotten. Or it may have been that Cadwy’s unpopularity had endeared their prodigal son to them the more.
I scanned the wary faces of the citizenry. “Whose side are they on?”
Merlin, walking by my side, gave a shrug. “The winning one. They’re merchants, artisans, and craftsmen, not warriors. They’ll hide behind their doors until they think it’s safe to come out, and then congratulate themselves on backing the victor.”
“And this army marching with us now?”
“Needs accommodation and food. Arthur can’t afford to let them disperse. Cadwy will be keeping his troops close about him, waiting for any sign of weakness. Euddolen will have to find the space for all these men.”
When we arrived, Arthur had only three words for me. “Go with Theodoric.”
Although it went against the grain, and my newfound confidence, I did as I was told, leaving him to organize his forces. There was nothing for me to do in the bustling courtyard, apart from get in the way, and Morgawse could probably do with another woman to help her. So I hurried after Theodoric’s long striding legs, through a gateway and into a garden courtyard that was a smaller version of the one at the Imperial Palace.
We were halfway across the central garden when a door off the colonnaded walkway swung open, and three women came out. One was grey-haired, the other two, by the looks of them, her teenage daughters, all finely dressed in flowing gowns. Theodoric strode up to them, Morgawse’s head resting on his shoulder, and I ran up beside him.
