Page 75 of The Dragon Ring
Merlin waited until they fell silent again. “No, Cadwy is not that king,” he said. “Because the prophecy says that the king will come with a queen by his side, a woman with no family, a woman from nowhere bearing the ring of the Pendragons. You all know the story. She is the Lady of the Ring.”
Goosebumps prickled my skin.
Merlin stepped up beside Arthur and me, and taking my free hand in his, raised my arm into the air. “Behold the Lady of the Ring.”
Uproar filled the hall. Advisers from the ranks of the kings’ followers rushed to discuss this new portent with their lords, and everyone in the public viewing areas talked or shouted to everyone else.
I stood still, letting the sound wash over me. No wonder Arthur and Merlin had thought it a good idea to bring me. The importance of this moment, which hinged on my presence, both weighed me down and buoyed me up. I couldn’t help but be infected by Arthur’s confidence, but at the same time a little knot of fear curled itself in my stomach.
Caninus got to his feet and, standing with raised arms, managed to quieten the noise. At last, the hall fell silent again.
“You have seen the Lady of the Ring,” he said. “You have seen the prophecy come true. She is the Queen of Arthur Pendragon. She is the Lady of the Ring.”
He was about to lose the crowd, which was buzzing with excitement. Arthur might not believe in prophecies coming true, but his audience definitely did, and were very keen to talk about it. Arthur released my hand and, in one bound, was up on the round table, standing in its center where all could see him. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Morgana fix him with a baleful stare.
“I am Arthur Pendragon, king of Dumnonia, son of King Uthyr.” His voice penetrated to every corner of the hall and snatched back the attention Caninus had almost lost. “This is my wife, the Lady Guinevere, my Queen. I am the one the dragons foretold. I am the red dragon who will drive back the Saxons and free our kingdoms from their yoke. And she will be by my side.”
My heart galloped at breakneck speed, stirred by his rousing words. Surely none of his audience could be immune to his message.
“But I do not ask you for the High Kingship here today.”
What?I’d thought that was exactly what he wanted.
“I ask instead that you give me the ancient title– Dux Britanniarum. It is an ancient Roman title, and I am a Roman born. My great-grandfather, Constantine, wore the purple and ruled the Western Empire, and yet the bloodline of Cunedda runs in my veins.” His gaze dared anyone to challenge him. No one did. Not even Cadwy.
“I’ll tell you what I ask of you today, every one of you. An army of young men who will follow me across Britain from one kingdom to the next, fighting not just for me or for my brother or for my neighbor, not for one kingdom, but for all. The Dux Britanniarum should guard every kingdom from far off Alt Clut in the north, to Caer Dore in the furthest tip of Cornubia. And so that I may do this, I ask you to provide me with warriors. I’ve proven myself in Din Cadan these past seven years. My father rewarded me with the kingship of Dumnonia. Din Cadan will be the base for my army– an army comprised of young men sent by each of you, ready to defend not just their own, but every kingdom.”
The five sons of Masgwid the Lame gave a shout of agreement as one. Proving that then, as now, young men’s lust for action is easily roused by a good speech. “We’ll join your army!” the eldest, Llaenog, called. Immediately amongst the younger followers of the kings there were echoed similar shouts. But the kings themselves were not so easily convinced.
One of them got slowly to his feet and looked up at Arthur. “You speak well, young man,” he began gruffly. “Your words are enough to rouse an army for you, I can see. But can you hold them? Can you bring home your promises? If we invest in you, will we get a return?” His age was difficult to gauge because his rugged face was devoid of wrinkles, although he had snowy white hair, thick and long like a lion’s mane.
Beside me, Merlin leaned close enough to whisper in my ear. “King March of Caer Dore.” Of course. King Marcus Cunomorus of Cornwall. I knew that name. My father had once taken me to the circle of grassy banks that was Caer Dore in my time.
From behind March, a young man with a mass of wild auburn curls to his shoulders stepped forward. Little more than a boy, he sported a fine fuzz of down on his strong chin. He gripped the back of March’s chair with whitened knuckles and burst out. “I’ll join you. Let me become one of your warriors.”
King March turned to glare at the young man. “Drustans! You will not volunteer for anything unless you have my permission.”
Tristan. Near to Caer Dore stands a stone known as “the Tristan Stone” engraved with the name Drustans, son of Cunomorus, and thought to be the origin of the Tristan and Iseult stories. I’d stood beside it with my father. This boy’s grave. It was a sobering thought.
The boy reddened. “I’m sorry, father, but if King Arthur becomes our Dux Britanniarum, then I will join him whether I have your permission or not.” His jaw jutted in defiance, and for a moment there was a prickly silence while it occurred to the rest of the kings that maybe they might not be able to stop their younger warriors rushing to Arthur’s standard.
“A vote!” someone cried. “Put it to the vote.”
There was a chorus of agreement amongst the kings, followed by a roar of approval from the watching crowd and a thunder of stamping feet. They couldn’t have made their approval more obvious.
Caninus got to his feet again. “Come down off the table now, Arthur.” The noise almost drowned out his voice, but Arthur, his peacocking at an end, jumped down to the flagstone floor and resumed his seat, head held high, challenging anyone to go against him. He looked very confident, and confidence wins hearts. Merlin took a few steps back with me until we were amongst our own men again.
Caninus held up his hands, and gradually order was restored. He waited until he had total silence.
“We will vote on what my cousin has proposed.” He paused for effect. “And I say that if we have a Dux Britanniarum once again, a War Leader for all the kingdoms, not just one, then we have no need of a High King.”
I was struck by the cleverness of all this. Had he planned it with Arthur?
I could no longer see Arthur’s face, but Merlin was standing right beside me. His face glowed with triumph. He’d known this was coming, which surely must mean Caninus was part of it. Maybe that was where Arthur had been all day yesterday and part of the night.
Uproar broke out again. I couldn’t tell whether it was in agreement or disagreement. Several of the kings jumped to their feet. Morgana’s face contorted in fury. She certainly hadn’t seen this coming. So much for her having the power to see the future. She’d been check-mated, good and proper.
Caninus at last managed to restore silence. He turned to his fellow kings.
