Page 50 of The Bear's Heart
I thought again of the poisoned wine, and Breanna’s last agonizing breaths.
“He’s right,” Merlin put in. “That’s exactly what Cadwy and Morgana think you’ll do– want you to do, even. If you ride into his city, you’ll never ride out again.”
Arthur scowled, but he couldn’t argue with Merlin’s words. Thank goodness they were there to calm his impetuosity.
Cei’s was the voice of reason. “She’s my sister, too. Let me go with just two other men. He’s got far less of a problem with me. I don’t think he’ll lock me up…or kill me. Let me go and bargain for her release.”
Merlin frowned. “He’ll claim Morgawse is there of her own free will if he’s got any sense.”
“Then I’ll ask to speak with her.”
Arthur didn’t look convinced. “You think he’ll allow you to? It’s Cadwy we’re talking about here. Cadwy and Morgana. If he thinks you want Morgawse, he’ll keep her well out of your way.”
“And Ummidia and her daughters?” I interrupted. “What about them? They’re more innocent than Morgawse because they’re not even related to Arthur. We have to save them, too.” I couldn’t stand by in silence when the only person they seemed to be thinking of was Morgawse.
“If it’s not already too late.” Cei’s words jarred the hot summer air and jangled in my ears.
Arthur turned to Cei. “If I let you go, then you’ll take five warriors with you, not two. If he tries to have you killed, take as many of his men with you as you can. Particularly him.” He paused, then added as an afterthought. “No, not him. Leave him for me.”
“He won’t have Cei and his men killed.” Merlin sounded as though he were certain. “Whatever this is, Cadwy intends it as a trap for you, not Cei. He’ll bargain, of that I’m sure. But we’ll need to be suspicious of whatever he concedes. He’s slippery as an eel, and by taking Euddolen and his family, to whom he’d offered immunity, he’s taken a step down the road to further evil.”
Arthur turned to look at his gathered men, dismounted now, but too many in number for all to be within the walls of the farmyard. “Take five volunteers from our new recruits, not the men of Dumnonia. Choose them well. From five different kingdoms. They’ll be your witnesses. You’ll go representing the Dux Britanniarum and not the King of Dumnonia. Let him make his revolt against the Dux, and not against me personally.”
Five men were swiftly found and, the daylight being long, they left the villa immediately to ride the ten miles to Viroconium, leaving us all kicking our heels in the makeshift camp.
The wait stretched out. Early evening became late evening. We all knew Cei and his escort should have covered the ten miles and arrived some time ago at Viroconium. Every one of us, down to the lowliest warrior, must have been imagining what was going on within those city walls, probably within the Imperial Palace itself, and worrying about Cei and the men he’d taken with him.
The sun finally disappeared below the western horizon, but Arthur refused to come to the bed we’d found in the house. His men were either as concerned as he was or sensed his disquiet, and they too hung around the campfire in the middle of the stable courtyard, unwilling to unroll their blankets and sleep when their lord was wakeful.
I sat by the fire, on a low milking stool fetched from the barn, wrapped in my blanket against the chill of the evening, watching the flames leap toward the blue black of the night sky. In front of the fire, Arthur paced, restless as a wild beast in a cage. By midnight, I’d begun to nod, and Merlin escorted me to my bed. I went with reluctance, wanting to stay with Arthur while this mood was on him, but in the end my tiredness was too much, and I gave in.
I woke to full daylight streaming in through the open shutters of the bedroom Albina and Cloelia might have shared– and straightaway felt guilty for thinking of them in the past tense. Pushing that thought to the back of my mind, I lay in bed luxuriating in the comfort, and then more guilt took hold. Thinking about where they might be sleeping now, I got up and pulled on my clothes. With no further ado, I hurried out of the bedroom and across the garden to the gates into the lower courtyard.
The chill of early morning had long passed, and wisps of smoke rose from the remains of the campfire. The men were busy attending to their horses or cleaning their weapons. A few stood around with skins of wine, passing them to one another with an air of subdued expectancy.
Merlin appeared out of the stables, and, approaching, offered me a wineskin which I took, downing a thirst-quenching gulp. “Where’s the king?” I asked, my eyes roving over the faces of the men and finding them looking back at me as though expecting me to be able to do something. The burden of being thought their lucky charm weighed heavy on me that morning.
“He’s walked down toward the village,” Merlin said. “You need to eat, Gwen, for the baby, if not for yourself.”
Shaking my head, I took a second long gulp of the watery wine. “I’m not hungry.” I turned away. “I’m going to find Arthur.”
He didn’t try to stop me.
Arthur hadn’t gone as far as the village. I found him down by the little river that ran below the villa, staring into the gently babbling water. Someone had constructed the roughest of bridges out of a fallen tree. Hearing me coming down the path, he looked over his shoulder and his face broke into a tired smile. Dark circles ringed his eyes.
I came up beside him and, without speaking, slipped my arm through his.
We stood in silence like this for a long time, half mesmerized by the flowing water as it chattered over the pebbles and ran away toward the village.
I spoke first. “He won’t harm Cei.”
Arthur turned his head and looked down at me. “We don’t know that.” He paused. “I should never have let him go. Cadwy is as untrustworthy as a Saxon. Cei’s my brother. I should never have risked him. It’s my responsibility to rescue those women, not his.”
I squeezed his arm. “If you’d gone, then you’d most likely be dead by now.” I put my hand on my belly. “And our son would grow up without a father. If he got to grow up at all with Cadwy all-powerful. He’d have killed you as easy as stamping on a spider, and he’d have taken Dumnonia. Where would be safe for me then, carrying your heir?”
“Walk with me,” he said, turning me upstream away from the village. “I needed your common sense.”
We followed the twisting riverbank as the sun rose higher in the sky and beat down hot on our backs, the silence between us companionable and comforting. Birds sang in the willows, and in the distance a pair of deer emerged from a small copse, watchful and wary as they sniffed the air. Everywhere was peaceful, an enclave of quiet that should never have been invaded so violently. There was no need for either of us to speak.
