Page 40 of The Quest for Excalibur
Arthur, on the other hand, was the picture of affronted rage, his dark brows furrowed and his whole body rigid with anger. If looks could have killed, Cei would have been lying dead at his brother’s feet. I hoped I’d never be on the receiving end of this fury.
“He thinks you don’t love him,” Cei said, at last.
“What?” The word shot out of Arthur.
“You wanted the truth,” Cei snapped, angry now, as well, and even more on the defensive. “I asked him what was wrong, after you’d left. He told me you’d said he wasn’t good enough to go. That Medraut was, and he wasn’t.” He paused, his own ginger brows lowering to match Arthur’s. “I tried to explain to him why Medraut was being sent away, but he wouldn’t believe me. He didn’t want to.”
He paused again, his eyes sliding sideways to meet mine. “Whatever I said, he was convinced he had something to prove to you– to both of you. To gain your love, and more importantly your respect. I couldn’t convince him otherwise.”
My stomach twisted with anguish as I stared into Cei’s beseeching eyes.
Merlin emerged from the shadows. “You couldn’t have done anything else.”
Arthur’s angry gaze switched to his friend, his shoulders rising and falling as though he’d been running. “He’s my son. I’ll say where he sleeps, and no one else.”
“He’s just a boy,” Merlin said. “He doesn’t understand like an adult would. He’s jealous of Medraut, and he thinks you don’t love him.”
Good for Merlin. He knew all about Medraut and his destiny, because I’d seen fit to confide in him, and now the secret must be burning a hole in his soul. He couldn’t tell Arthur any more than I could about why we so feared what Medraut would become. And he couldn’t warn Amhar how dangerous his friendship was. In case we were wrong.
Only he and I shared this secret, and it had to stay that way. Who knew whether everything we’d done so far hadn’t brought Medraut and Arthur closer to their Camlann despite our desperation to avoid just that?
But I’d been right about Arthur’s lack of tact in dealing with Amhar. Too late now. The damage had been done.
An angry scowl settled over Arthur’s face. “Of course I bloody love him. He’s my son. He’s nearly a year younger than Medraut, but looks younger still. Of course he’s not ready to go somewhere like Dinas Brent. And even if he were, I wouldn’t send him there.” He walked as far as the smoldering hearth fire, swung on his heel and strode back to halt in front of Cei and Merlin.
Cei stood stiff and still. “I told him the very same thing. But he didn’t believe me. He thinks you prefer Medraut because he’s bigger, cleverer, stronger.”
Arthur’s fists balled by his sides. “How could he be so stupid?”
“Easily,” I said. “You weren’t exactly tactful in what you said to him.”
He spun around to stare at me.
I stood my ground. “It isn’t easy being a parent. A father. Your words can be misinterpreted by a child all too easily. And that’s all he is. Whatever he thinks he might be, he’s just a child, and you gave him the impression you thought Medraut was better than he was.”
Arthur opened his mouth, perhaps to deny this accusation, then snapped it shut again.
“You need to tell him all that yourself,” Cei said, his voice low. “He asked me if he could go to live in the barracks because he wants the position Medraut’s vacated. He wants the other boys to follow him the way their fathers follow you.” A grim smile crept across his face. “He wants to be like you.”
I bit my lip. Instinct and knowledge of my child told me this was unlikely to happen. For several reasons, not least the fact that those boys had followed Medraut because they feared him. No one feared Amhar, and I didn’t want them to start doing so. But also because Amhar just wasn’t like his father in the ways that would count. He was softer, gentler, more thoughtful. And I loved him for it. Archfedd had more of Arthur in her than he did, but she was a girl, and could never inherit the throne.
The hall doors swung open and Llacheu came in, followed by Amhar. When Llacheu had been a child I’d seen in him so much of the boy Arthur must once have been, but with Amhar it was different. Superficially he was like both Llacheu and his father, but there the resemblance ended. His soft features and limpid brown eyes held nothing of his older brother’s determination, courage and strength.
If I’d been asked to describe him, I’d have said he was a dreamer, one of those people content to wash along on the tide of life, not someone who’d want to seize the tiller and direct the ship. Unlike Medraut, who’d have knocked the helmsman aside and stolen his place, which was precisely why he wasn’t here any longer.
Amhar halted in front of his father, slender as a reed, his hands clasped behind his back. He swallowed. Llacheu stepped back a couple of respectful paces. The torchlight flickered over the faces of father and son.
Arthur gazed down at Amhar in silence. Was he lost for words? He never was with his men.
Go on, tell him.
“I hear you’ve moved into one of the barracks houses,” Arthur said, voice formal and stiff, as though he were fighting to keep his feelings in check. Why were men so useless at emotional stuff?
Amhar nodded. “I have.” The voice of a child, reedy and thin as the boy himself. He paused, then added, “Father.” He stood ramrod straight, tense as a bowstring. The taut air twanged between them.
Arthur licked his lips. “Do you like it there?”
Amhar nodded.
