Page 78 of The Dragon Ring
He raised his eyebrows at me. “Wouldn’t I?”
I stared at him, shocked. Would he do the same? Had he already tried it? What did he mean?
He gave himself a little shake. “We came to say goodbye to my father. Nothing can help Breanna now. Come.” He held his hand out.
I hesitated. The lines had somehow smoothed themselves out of Breanna’s old, tired face like the wrinkles from an ironed shirt. She looked different. Hollow, just an empty shell. She was the second person I’d seen die. How many more would there be?
I put my hand in Arthur’s and let him lead me through the doors into his father’s noisome bedchamber.
*
The funeral serviceseemed to take forever. I couldn’t stop thinking about Breanna’s body lying on the bench in the antechamber. The image of her empty face wouldn’t go away. We were burying one person, but another lay dead, and one of the mourners was her murderer.
The press of people was immense. A chill wind blew through the city, but it looked as though the entire population had turned out for the interment of their king. A sea of faces pressed in on us as we passed by, following the cortege that bore Uthyr’s bier. The stink of putrefaction hung over everything. No one could do anything to dispel it, even though the young boys walking beside the bier carried burning incense. Maybe everyone was used to the stench of death.
The burial ground lay outside the city gates. That was where the Romans had buried their dead, and the custom had continued. Stone tombs and grave markers lined the paved road, some ornately splendid, many just small, inscribed stones. Uthyr’s tomb was the biggest and the newest– the size of a small house. In the front, four white marble pillars supported a portico carved with battle scenes. The solid oak door stood wide open, gaping on the darkness within.
Archbishop Dubricius led the procession, walking ahead of the stinking bier. Following behind, Cadwy, as the oldest son, took precedence over Arthur. The cloaked and hooded figure of Cadwy’s wife walked behind him, the wife he would have put aside so willingly for me. And I followed my husband. Behind us came a line of chanting monks. A long column of dignitaries, including the visiting kings, trailed in their wake.
At the tomb, we halted, and Dubricius, carrying his incense, climbed the three steps to the portico. In front of the door, he swung his censer three times, then turned toward the bier, on which rested the wrapped and rapidly decomposing remains of the king. Silence fell. Dubricius cleared his throat.
“Lord Jesus Christ, by your death you hallow the graves of all those who believe in you. You have made the grave a sign that promises resurrection as it claims our mortal bodies. Grant our brother, Uthyr Pendragon, peaceful sleep until You awaken him to glory, for You are the resurrection and the life. He will sit at the right hand of God in Your holy kingdom and know the splendor of God, for You live and reign for ever and ever.”
I was struck by how very much like the modern funeral service it was, having not long ago been to my father’s. But presumably this was in Latin. I couldn’t tell the difference, as the ring had bestowed understanding of both Celtic and Latin.
A mumbled refrain of “Amen” rose from the assembled mourners.
Dubricius nodded to the six grizzled warriors who carried the bier. Arthur and I stepped to one side. I took the opportunity to put myself between the brothers as the bier moved to the doors of the tomb.
Dubricius swung his censer three times more.
“In sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life promised through our Lord Jesus Christ, we commend to Almighty God our brother, Uthyr Pendragon, and we commit his body to its resting place here: earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. May the Lord bless him and keep him, the Lord make his face to shine upon him and give him the peace of everlasting rest.”
“Amen.” Arthur’s voice rose loud and clear above the hushed murmur. I glanced up. He was watching Cadwy, and Cadwy was watching him. Cadwy’s wife, her hood pulled well forward, was praying.
One by one the assembled kings stepped forward to pay their respects, going on one knee to honor him as High King, and then retreating into the mass that filled the narrow roadway. Finally, Cadwy and Arthur stepped forward together and, side by side, went down on their knees on the steps of the tomb.
As the brothers knelt, the bearers carried the bier with its shrouded body into the tomb and Dubricius followed them in. The bitter wind soughed in the branches of the nearby trees, and the murmur of five thousand people’s breathing and shuffling filled the air.
Only I was close enough to hear what Arthur said to Cadwy as they knelt there waiting for their Archbishop to emerge.
“Thank you for the kind gift of the wine, brother.” Arthur kept his voice low.
Cadwy bristled like a porcupine. “I need not ask if you enjoyed it,” he hissed back.
“You’ll need to try harder than that.”
“I was not even trying. It was too good a chance to miss.”
“And miss you did. Your aim, as ever, was poor. There’s a body in my father’s chambers– no, your chambers now– that you’ll need to take care of.”
Cadwy’s look of surprise was genuine. “A body?”
Arthur gave a nearly imperceptible nod. “A certain old woman. She was tired and melancholy. She drank the wine you meant for me.”
“Not Breanna!” Cadwy’s voice rose, and several people turned their heads to look at him.
“Yes. Breanna.” Arthur kept his voice low. “Harmless Mother Breanna. But she was old and of little use, wasn’t she? Her master’s death had addled her brains. What does her loss matter to King Cadwy? What was she worth to her king?” There was contempt in every word. Cadwy quivered with suppressed fury.
