Page 76 of The Dragon Ring
“What say you on this?”
The young, tattooed warrior, King Natanleod, got to his feet. There was nothing of the Roman about him. More Conan the Barbarian. Would he want a Roman office reinstated? He nodded to Arthur. “If I were not a king, I would join you myself. My vote is for the creation of the Dux Britanniarum.” Behind him, his assembled supporters cheered their approval. “I will send six of my best young warriors to Din Cadan with arms and shields, and six of my best horses.” He sat down again.
Masgwid the Lame lumbered awkwardly to his feet. “I have five sons who have already said they wish to join you. But my question is this: who will pay to feed and house your warriors? If we send our young men to you, will it cost us?”
A murmur of approval buzzed round the hall. It looked like the economics of this was foremost in the minds of many of the kings. Perhaps money lay at the root of all things, even back in the Dark Ages.
Arthur rose to his feet. “The lands of the southwest, in Dumnonia, are rich. We have wheat and grass, we have herds of cattle and sheep and horses, and we have good hunting. As Dux Britanniarum I will ask tribute from each kingdom we defend. If you have no need of us, you will not pay.”
Apparently he’d done some working out beforehand of how he was going to run this army he was intent on recruiting, which showed common sense.
“And if we do not send warriors to you, what then? Will you still come to our aid?” The black-haired king, Melwas, to whom I’d taken an instant dislike, got lazily to his feet and stood surveying his fellows out of his hooded eyes. “Will you pass us by and leave us to our fate?”
Arthur shook his head. “Mycombrogi,this brotherhood, will defend all who ask for help. We will turn no one away who is in need. You have my oath on that.”
Surely that was a dangerous promise to make. If he planned to defend whoever asked, whether they’d contributed men or not, what was there to ensure anyone would send him their warriors?
Arthur sat down and Caninus stood up once more. “If we agree to reinstate the title and role of Dux, then we must all vow to send warriors to carry out Arthur’s pledge. There can be no abstentions. I too, like Natanleod, have six warriors ready to send with Arthur to Din Cadan. We must vote, and if we agree to Arthur becoming Dux, then we must also agree to send him men, just as Natanleod has said, with horses, arms and shields.” There were murmurs of agreement. I had the distinct feeling some of these kings had known this was coming.
Natanleod jumped to his feet again. “And I vow that when one of my warriors falls in the service of the Dux, I will send another to replace him.”
Feet stamped in agreement from the crowd.
“Let us vote.” Caninus looked around the kings. “All those in favor of creating Arthur, king of Dumnonia, our Dux Britanniarum, raise your right hands.”
Cadwy was one of only three who kept their hands down, the others being Melwas of the Summer Country, and another, who Merlin told me was Owain White Tooth, king of Gwynedd, great grandson of Cunedda and so Arthur’s distant cousin. There was no need for a count. Caninus took Arthur’s arm and raised him to his feet.
A great cheer went up– enough to raise the thatched roof. I looked around at the applauding crowd, carried away by a rousing speech, and a man who, by his plain clothing, looked more like one of them than a king, convinced that this, like Arthur’s inheritance of the throne of Dumnonia, had all been cleverly engineered.
Chapter Twenty-One
Uthyr’s funeral wasto take place the following day. He’d been three days dead, and the stink he’d had when alive hadn’t improved any when Arthur and I went to pay our last respects as custom decreed. In fact, the smell met us out in the courtyard garden like a solid wall, bringing us up short in shock.
Merlin, Theodoric and Cei exchanged worried glances. I didn’t think any of them wanted to brave the bedchamber where the corpse now lay in state. Arthur must have seen their discomfiture because he waved them away to wait in the courtyard with the rest of the warriors who’d accompanied us.
“The Queen and I will go in alone.”
I’d much rather have stayed outside with the men. But as his queen, I couldn’t argue, even though I’d have quite liked to.
Breanna was sitting in the antechamber on a little stool beside a burning brazier. Strongly scented smoke drifted upwards, eddying about the room, insufficient to mask the putrid stench of death. Hearing us enter, she got to her feet, her face creased with sorrow and confusion. Arthur went to her.
“Mother Breanna, it’s me, Arthur.”
She clasped his hands in her own gnarled grip. “Arthur? How can it be? My Arthur is just a little boy. You can’t be him.”
Had Uthyr’s death addled her brains?
She licked her thin, dry lips. “You’re too late, whoever you are. My sweet king is dead these three days since. You’re too late.”
“I know, Old Mother. I was with him when he died.” His voice was gentle.
She raised cloudy eyes to his face and peered at him myopically. “Were you?” Her voice wavered. “Were you really?” She tottered on scrawny legs. Had she sat here in this antechamber whilst the world passed her by, forgotten, cast aside like an old pair of shoes?
My heart ached for her.
Arthur guided her to the cushioned seats. “Sit down and rest, Old Mother. You’re shaking. When did you last eat? Gwen, fetch her some of that wine from the table.”
A tall, earthenware pitcher stood on the table next to four intricately embossed pewter goblets. I poured a generous amount of the rich red wine and carried it over to the bench.
