Page 101 of The Quest for Excalibur
Underneath the table, Arthur’s hand caressed my thigh, the heat of his touch radiating out and settling in my groin, an ache I longed to satisfy. I covered his hand with mine, and kept on scanning the crowded tables.
At the shadowy far end of the hall, the young apprentice warriors had all crowded together at one long table, sideways on to the rest of the hall. Something about them drew my attention, but I couldn’t work out what.
Under my curious gaze, they raised their goblets to one another, shouting with laughter at something one of them must have said. Probably some crude joke– boys that age aren’t renowned for their wit.
All but one of them. Amhar’s cold stare was fixed on me, icy enough to freeze the leaping hearth fire between us.
If I hadn’t been already seated, that stare might have sent me reeling backward. As it was, my free hand went to my mouth before I could stop myself, to stifle a sharp gasp of shock.
Why was he staring at me with so much venom in his eyes? How could an eleven-year-old boy look at me, his mother, with such hatred? With an enormous effort, I pulled myself together, gathering my shocked wits, and forced a nervous smile.
He looked away, turning his back with determination. The boy beside him sloshed cider into his beaker, and Amhar raised it to his lips.
I glanced sideways at Arthur, the heat of his hand on my thigh suddenly suffocating. Could Amhar have seen me looking at Llacheu? Was that jealousy I’d surprised on his face? Could he bejealousof his half-brother? For a few moments I struggled with a wave of guilt that somehow, I’d let him see something that had so upset him.
A servant slid more meat onto my plate before I could wave him away. Arthur and Cei laughed together on my left, oblivious to the cold dread that had settled in my heart. A dread born not just from the natural upset at my son’s expression, but from my knowledge of the future that suddenly weighed on me like heavy pigs of lead, pressing me down.
Amhar’s back remained angry and stiff as he held out his goblet for more cider.
I looked down at my food. Food for which I now had no appetite at all.
In an attempt to watch my son covertly, I picked at the meat. Another servant refilled my goblet, and I took a long gulp, letting the rich amber wine run down my throat. Arthur had been saving it for just such a special occasion, but the pleasure of it had deserted me.
I glanced along the table. The same servant filled the goblets of Arthur, Cei, Coventina, Merlin… and Llacheu.
For the first time, I wondered if Arthur was honouring his oldest son, his bastard, more than he should be. I loved Llacheu like a son myself, not caring that another woman had birthed him, nor that he was illegitimate, but Amhar was my own child. Somehow, without our noticing, he’d reached the age where he’d soon be a man, ready to fight as a warrior beside his father and brother. That he already felt a kind of jealousy for his cousin Medraut had been apparent for some time, but I’d never expected to find him nurturing the same feelings for Llacheu, the kind big brother he’d always looked up to.
Arthur’s hand squeezed my thigh, and all I wanted to do was shake him off. The desire of earlier had evaporated like morning mist in the hot sun.
Laughter, joyful and drunken for the most part, rose to the rafters, too loud, too merry.
Scarcely three days after the battle, the men seemed yet again to have put behind them the deaths of their comrades, the suffering they’d seen, the violence they’d had a part in.
I’d seen it all before, many times, but tonight their ability to forget made me want to shout and scream at them that battles were terrible, and how with their friends lying cold and dead, we shouldn’t be celebrating like this.
But I couldn’t. I had to remember they lived in a time where the obligation to defend their king loomed large, that danger lay in the most unexpected of places in their everyday lives, and that all of them knew they mightdieat any moment. Living like that, how could I expect them to dwell on the losses in their lives? Their behavior didn’t mean their comrades were forgotten. Rhiwallon was not and never would be. But it did mean that once mourned, the lost were put away, life went on, and grief was kept private and muted.
Maybe there was no other way to cope.
I watched their faces as they downed their wine and cider, their celebrations a bit too loud, a bit too enthusiastic, as though they thought that by doing so, they’d still the unquiet ghosts of the dead who huddled in the shadowy corners of the Hall.
A sobering thought.
Arthur leaned toward me. “I wish this was all done with.” He smiled. “I want you to myself.”
I forced a smile, but the pleasure had vanished from my heart. I groped for some way to rebuild the barriers we’d so inadvertently set up between our son and us. “Do you think you might include Amhar tonight? Single him out from his fellows?” I bit my lip. “I think he’s feeling rather forgotten.”
Arthur shrugged. “What for? He didn’t do anything. He’s just a boy, learning his trade. He’ll have to wait his turn to win battle honors.”
Sometimes my husband could be far too obtuse. “I know all that,” I said, struggling to be patient. “But he’s our son. He’s your heir. He should be here on the high table with us. With his brother and sister.”
Arthur frowned. He’d had rather a lot to drink, and for a moment he stared unfocused at me. “Llacheu won his place on the high table through his own valor. He was at the battle, leading the attack. Amhar did nothing.”
I grit my teeth. This was like wading through treacle. “I know what Llacheu did. But Archfedd is here, and Reaghan. They didn’t do any fighting and nor did Coventina.” I paused. “And I might have been there, but I didn’t fight.”
He sighed. “Archfedd is a princess. She sits here for that reason. And you are my queen. And Coventina is Cei’s wife.”
“Amhar is a prince. So why isn’t he here?”
