Page 15 of The Bear's Heart
Turning to look at Arthur, Broken Nose’s voice rose an octave in desperation. “Please don’t send us back.” He dropped to his knees in the half-frozen mud. “We were your men from the moment we swore allegiance and made a solemn vow to follow you into battle. A vow that meant a great deal to us. Your enemies are our enemies, and that makes Melwas our enemy as much as yours.”
Arthur’s face didn’t soften. His brows came together in a frown.
Something had to be said to save them. I stepped away from Olwyn to my husband’s side. “Listen to them, Arthur,” I pleaded. “They’re afraid to go back. Olwyn says her son will kill them. He keeps his men, and all his people, in line through fear. I’ve seen it. Please don’t send them back.”
“Her son?” That had certainly distracted him. “She’s Melwas’s mother? You’ve brought that monster’s mother into our midst?” Incredulity brought him up sharply.
All eyes swung to look at Olwyn. She hung her head and hunched her shoulders in what looked like an effort to make herself look insignificant.
I returned to her and taking her arm, pulled her to stand in front of Arthur. Before she could protest, I rolled back her sleeve. “Look what he did to her. Because she mourned his older brothers– his own brothers, her sons, who he killed to make himself king. Yes, he’s a monster. I should know. But she is not. Look at her. She’s terrified. I had to bring her with me because he was going to take out his frustrations on her, and she’s too old for that.”
My breath came hard and fast as though I’d run a marathon, and my face flushed with the injustice of blaming the actions of others on these four youths.
Arthur, whose eyes had been fixed on me during my impassioned speech, slid his gaze sideways and down, to stare at the puckered, melted flesh on Olwyn’s skinny forearm.
I kept going, but now my voice was so low only he could have heard me. “And maybe you should stop to think whose fault it was that the men who kidnapped me had the opportunity to do so. You accepted them into your army. You chose them to escort me home. Without you, they’d never have been able to snatch me.”
He stared back at me, and along with the flash of anger that flared at my words, I spied guilt in his eyes as they sank in. I hammered it home. “So please don’t tell me I can’t offer Olwyn a home.”
There was an awful moment of suspense as he stood still, and then the anger visibly seeped out of him and his jaw relaxed. Turning to Olwyn, he put a gentle hand under her chin, raising her head to look into her eyes. “He did this to you?”
She nodded, licking her cracked lips, and whispered, “And he’ll do the same, or worse, to these boys if you send them back.”
Arthur looked over her head at Cei. “Very well. We’ll give them a chance. But see each is paired with one of our own warriors. I’ll not have sedition spreading. Untie them and give them back their armor and horses. We ride for home.”
*
I was neverso glad to see Din Cadan as that night. We rode up the cobbled roadway to its gates under a clear sky and a full moon, frost already sparkling on every blade of stunted grass. Before us, the double gates opened wide, and the massed forces of Arthur rode through them into the fortress’s wide interior.
Exhaustion overwhelmed me, so Arthur had to lift me down from the saddle and carry me into the great hall whilst others attended to our horses. Once inside our chamber, he tenderly undressed me and, having found a clean undershirt, tucked me into our bed with hot stones all around me.
Blissfully happy to be back, I lay there, letting the warm glow of the brazier and torches lull me to sleep, the sound of voices from beyond the door into the hall barely noticeable. I was back where I belonged. I was home.
The next morning, the persistent pawing of the tabby cat who frequented our bedchamber woke me– the same one who’d kept me company my first night there, alone in Arthur’s big bed. She was kneading at me as cats do, snagging her claws on the finely-spun blankets. I turned my head, but the Arthur-shaped space beside me was empty and cold.
Sitting up, I pushed the cat aside. My body clock told me it was much later than normal, but as I had the excuse of exhaustion, not having slept well in Melwas’s clutches, I took my time dressing. Today was not a day for braccae, as I had no intention of riding anywhere unless heavily guarded. My choice was an ankle-length undertunic followed by a shorter overtunic gathered with a wide woven belt.
I found Arthur on the training fields beyond the horse pens with his young warriors, all of them sweating hard in their armor. They were using real swords for their training session today, their wooden swords discarded in a pile. The frost of the day before had vanished, and the fighters slid all over the place in the slippery and treacherous top half-inch of ground.
To the right, close below the outer wall, Merlin and Gwalchmei, the musician, were supervising a dozen small boys, all armed with practice swords and round, white painted shields. Wandering over to watch, I spotted the dark curly head of Arthur’s son, Llacheu, going at it like a dervish with a boy several inches taller than he was. A lucky blow sent the older boy’s sword spinning into the mud, and Llacheu let out a shriek of triumph.
Arthur, who’d been fighting against one of the young warriors from Dinas Brent– Ginger– was momentarily distracted, and the younger man’s sword caught him hard across the ribs. He staggered under the blow but then returned it twice as hard, hammering at the young warrior with as much gusto as his son. Ginger fell back under a rain of blows, his shield split down the center. He dropped his sword as a stinging blow across the back of his hand with the flat of Arthur’s sword knocked it from his grip. He tripped over his own feet and fell backward onto the muddy ground.
I had to wonder if Arthur had chosen this young man as an opponent for a reason.
Leaving the young man lying in the mud, Arthur strode over to join me, his dark hair sticking damply to his brow despite the cold, his breathing hard after the exertion.
“Gwen!” He put an arm around my waist, drawing me nearer, and bestowed a kiss on my lips. “I thought you’d never wake and come out. I’ve finished here, so let’s walk.” His eyes were troubled.
We climbed the steps to the walkway that ran around the perimeter of the fortress. It was manned at intervals, and on a strict rota, by Arthur’s warriors who were neither resting nor involved in training.
He took my hand in his, pulling it through the crook of his arm, and we set off slowly in the direction of the main gates. For a while we walked in silence.
That something had been brewing in his head had been obvious from the moment he’d almost lost control as he’d attacked Ginger. That, and his suddenly solemn countenance, worried me.
At last he pulled me to a halt overlooking the village at the foot of the hill, the tiny wattle and daub church spire rising out of the bare treetops. He looked me in the eyes. “Did he– did he touch you?”
Of course. I’d been ostensibly alone with Melwas for over three days. I would have thought the same things.
