Page 47 of The Bear's Heart
I was a little taken aback that he’d had that sort of conversation with Merlin and neither of them had thought to tell me. “Well, we’ll see,” I said, my tone a little frosty.
He didn’t seem to have noticed my momentary irritation though, because he held up his arm for me to nestle against him and, after a split second’s annoyed hesitation, I did so. It was so good to be close to him again after all those weeks of worrying. I could forgive him anything, even discussing the gender of our unborn baby with his friend, and having left me without saying goodbye, so long as he was back safe in my arms.
*
The very nextmorning, we rode away from Caer Lind Colun, leaving behind Prince Beli and his brave warriors, and King Manogan and his prayers. In his campaign, Arthur and his men had harried the Saxons right across the north of Linnuis, brought them to battle on more than one occasion, and eventually driven them back to the coast where their longships awaited them. Lives had been lost on both sides, but victory had been with the Dux Britanniarum. The Saxons had fled by sea back toward their holdings in the south-east, their tails between their legs and with fewer ships than before.
Our route led us down the Fosse Way to Caer Lerion, a tumbledown road junction occupied by the remains of a once splendid Roman town. We’d stayed there on our way up to Linnuis, and I’d not liked it much then. Now, after Caer Lind Colun, it seemed worse. The majority of the city walls remained standing, but here and there they’d long ago fallen or been knocked down. Had the local population done it deliberately in rebellion against their departed Roman overlords? Or was this damage inflicted by raiding Saxons? As people still lived within the walls, albeit in parody of the previous inhabitants, it seemed more likely to be the former reason.
We spent only one night in the seedy confines of the magistrate’s house, and I was glad to put it behind us. From there, we headed west, to join what I would have called Watling Street but Arthur referred to as the Viroconium Road, taking our journey in easy stages. For once, we weren’t pressed for time. I rode Alezan all the way. We now had a couple of wagons carrying the wounded who were too weak to ride, and both Arthur and Merlin pressed me to ride in the wagons from time to time, but I resisted with determination. I still had hardly any bump to speak of, and riding was much more comfortable than being bounced around in an unsprung wagon.
Theodoric, and with him the prisoners Arthur had taken, prepared to break away from us and march south, heading to Caer Legeion, where his fleet was based. So too did the wagons carrying the wounded, which were heading directly back to Din Cadan.
“I’ve had my fill of fighting on land,” Theodoric said as he parted from Arthur. “My feet itch for the feel of trusty planks beneath them and my ears for the sound of wind inThe Mermaid’ssails, and the beat of the rowers’ drum. My nose misses the salt tang, and my eyes the distant horizon.”
Arthur embraced his friend. “Take your patrols around the south coast and up the east side of Britain. Engage the Saxon pirates before they ever set foot on our lands, and you’ll be helping the cause far more than if you stayed with my army. We’ll deliver Morgawse and your son to Caer Legeion, safe under King Caninus’s guard, now the baby’s of an age to travel and the weather warm enough. Have no fear of that.”
Having parted from Theodoric, Arthur and Cei led the remaining army into Powys, heading for the country villa of Euddolen, the late Uthyr Pendragon’s seneschal. His villa estate lay ten miles south-east of Viroconium, Cadwy’s capital. Not quite far enough away for comfort, in my opinion. However, after the dispute before the Council of Kings at the end of last year, Cadwy had pledged not to take revenge on those men who’d sided with Arthur. Back then, it had appeared to be the best place to leave Theodoric’s wife, Morgawse, Arthur’s youngest sister, with her newborn baby. Better than dragging her miles across wintry Britain.
I wasn’t looking forward to seeing Morgawse. When I’d last been at Viroconium nearly eight months ago, I’d helped deliver her baby while Arthur and Cadwy had been scrapping over their inheritance– if that was what you could have called the fight between their two rival factions. While we were barricaded inside the palace kitchen, the baby had been born. A red-faced, screeching boy, clinging to life with a determination that would have been admirable.
Were it not for his name.
For Morgawse had named the child Medraut– the Mordred of the legends I knew, in which he was said to have led a rebellious force against Arthur at Camlann, where Mordred died, and Arthur was fatally wounded. My horror as Morgawse welcomed her son by name had heralded the guilty wish that the baby had died at birth. I was still ashamed of myself for harboring such thoughts.
And now we would be seeing this child again.
We arrived at Euddolen’s villa on a balmy summer’s evening. The farm, for that was what it was, nestled in a shady wooded valley near a sacred well. Between sweet-smelling meadows of freshly cut hay, a river flowed down the valley to join the distant River Sabrina. Wheat, slowly ripening to gold, stood tall in the small square fields that filled the lower slopes of the valley. And a well-worn track ran away through riverside orchards and willow stands, toward the distant thatched rooftops of the estate village.
Birds sang in the hedgerows as our horses splashed through the ford and wound their way between the grassy paddocks. It was an idyllic welcome. But the gates on every paddock stood open, and not an animal was to be seen. This was strange, because all the way across the heartland of Britain we’d seen livestock, some in their home paddocks and some grazing out on the hills. Zealous herdsmen had wisely hurried their stock away from our path as soon as they caught sight of so many mounted warriors to watch us in suspicion from a distance.
We were a large party, even minus the wounded heading back to Din Cadan in the wagons. The cloud of dust which rose behind our column should have alerted the villa inhabitants of our arrival. Yet, oddly, no one came into the outer courtyard of the villa to welcome us. Our vanguard had ridden on ahead and as we clattered into the farmyard, they emerged on foot from the stables where they’d tied their horses, as confused as we were.
Arthur didn’t dismount but leaned on his pommel and looked down at them, his furrowed brow betraying how puzzled he was. “Where is everyone?”
“We don’t know,” replied Ban of Benoic, the leader of the vanguard. He was one of the oldest of Arthur’s warriors but still not a day over thirty, with short brown hair and a crooked nose he liked to tell people he’d broken in a fight with a giant, but which Merlin told me had actually been broken by a whore. “There’s no one here. We’ve been all through the farm buildings and there’s not a soul to be seen. Nor any livestock, save a few hens and a mangy cat.”
Merlin looked over their heads toward the half-open gates that led into the inner courtyard. “Have you tried the house?”
Ban shook his head. “We saw you coming and thought we’d best wait for reinforcements. This don’t feel right to me.”
There was a long silence while everyone, me included, stared round at the apparently deserted farmyard. The few hens Ban had mentioned scratched about in the dirt as though nothing was wrong, and on the red-tiled rooftops, doves cooed peacefully to one another. The place had the atmosphere of a land-boundMarie Celeste.
Arthur dismounted and tossed his reins to Merlin. “I’m going to look in the house. There must be someone here– the fields are all in good order.”
“Is that wise?” Cei also dismounted. “I’ll come with you. We’ll take a guard. It could be a trap.”
Nobody needed to say who might be setting this trap. We all had a pretty good idea.
At an order from Cei, half a dozen warriors dismounted and donned their helmets. Swords drawn, they followed him and Arthur through the gates to disappear into the inner courtyard. The rest of us sat on our horses in uncomfortable silence. Unnerved, I glanced around at the quiet farm buildings that now seemed threatening. A shiver of apprehension trickled down my spine. Was Ban sure the barns and stables were empty? Or were we about to be attacked?
We waited for what felt a long time, our horses shifting restlessly. Flies buzzed round their heads and settled on our sweaty faces. I was just beginning to feel very nervous indeed when the gates swung open again, and Arthur and Cei emerged with grim expressions. Between them, they marched Cutha, Euddolen’s old midwife who’d attended Morgawse after she’d given birth. Dried blood matted her lank grey hair and the front of her tunic, and her eyes were saucers of terror.
My stomach roiled in sympathetic fear and the baby did a somersault.
Their six guards joined them at a run. “Nothing.” The first spread his hands in an eloquent gesture. “Not a person. A lot of blood though.”
“How much and how old?” Arthur asked, his voice edged with fury.
