Page 52 of The Quest for Excalibur
Didn’t I know that name? Twelve years had passed but I’d never forgotten the boy I’d met on my first day here. Could this be him, all grown up? Surely not. A common name anyone could have.
With the boy dispatched, Turi and the women sprang into action. The looms were pushed to one side, the children shooed away to play elsewhere, although in reality they only went so far as to hide behind the huts and peek out at us, big-eyed and curious.
Two not very trustsworthy looking seats were fetched out for us to sit on.
“Will you be seated, Milord?” Turi asked, all obsequious retainer now.
Arthur took the offered seat as though it had been given by another king, bowing gracefully to the two women who brought them, and sitting down as though on his magnificent throne at the Council of Kings. I perched on the edge of the second seat, wary of fully committing my weight to it.
Another woman fetched beakers of strong, earthy cider, and a fourth brought honey cakes, which, to my surprise, were delicious, despite my misgivings about the cleanliness of their preparation.
“These are the best I’ve ever tasted,” Arthur declared with surprising tact for him, as he took a second cake. “You’ll have to come and work for me in the Great Hall at Din Cadan.” He beamed at the woman, whose face flushed scarlet with delight. Through the dirt. No doubt she’d be telling everyone how much the king had liked her baking for years to come. The equivalent of the Royal Warrant in my old world.
Nibbling mine with much less enthusiam, I was only hoping we wouldn’t get e-coli or salmonella poisoning or even botulism. The only forms of food poisoning I could think of on the spur of the moment.
We didn’t have long to wait. The little messenger boy came racing back with Con loping behind him. A tall, dark-haired young man with wide eyes and an open honest face. Something about him struck a chord the moment I laid eyes on him. Was I right? Could this hefty lad be the little shepherd boy I remembered?
He slithered to a halt in front of us and made a hurried bow. As he straightened up, our eyes met. My memories slid into place. Of course. Itwashim. The young man’s features still held an echo of the boy’s.
“Con?” I said. “Don’t you remember me?”
He must have been about twenty by now, long and lanky as a younger boy still, but with the promise of thickening out to make a strong man. Dark stubble shadowed his chin and upper lip, and heavy black brows framed wide brown eyes. He stared, and I could almost hear the cogs of his brain whirring into place. “You be that girl I did find on the hillside that time,” he said, almost as though he didn’t believe his memory. “In them funny clothes. The one that we did take to the abbot.” His gaze went to my hand on the beaker of cider. To my ring. “The one wi’ the dragon ring.”
I nodded. “I am she.” I held out the hand with the ring on it. “And here is my ring, still on my finger.”
Impatient, Arthur frowned. “She is your queen now, boy. Show my wife due respect.”
Con shifted awkwardly and bowed again, deeper this time. When he came up, he kept his eyes lowered, as though not wanting to look at either of us now he knew who we were.
Men’s voices sounded. They were returning through the trees, no doubt curious to see their king and queen who’d so unexpectedly come to visit. Quietly, they shuffled into the crowd now gathered about us, bobbing self-conscious bows one after another as they arrived.
Arthur fixed Con with a firm stare. “We have come to question you, boy.”
“Milord. Milady,” Con mumbled, remembering himself and bowing again, but still keeping his eyes on his dirty bare feet.
“Enough of that,” Arthur snapped, a little impatient, I suspected. “Stop all this bowing. One’s enough. We’ve come here today seeking information.” He nodded at Turi then turned back to Con. “Did your grandmother ever show you where the ancients made their sacrifices to the old gods? Your headman swears you know.”
Con’s head shot up and his eyes widened, some kind of recognition kindling deep down in them. He glanced at Turi, who gave him an encouraging nod. The boy licked his lips. “Aye, she did that.” He hesitated. “Milord.”
Whatever I’d seen in his eyes flickered again– was it exultation, pride? Some grain of knowledge that perhaps he wanted to share. Was there more to this than just surprise at our request? Was he, in fact, surprised at all?
Arthur set down his beaker. “Then you will take us there.”
Con’s face had paled under the tan and dirt. He licked his lips again, his tongue darting around them several times. “As you wish, Milord.”
That knowing, almost exultant look returned, as his gaze slid from Arthur’s face to mine, and back again. A little shiver slithered down my spine.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“This way, Milord,”Con muttered, addressing his feet. He’d dropped his eyes the moment they’d met mine, perhaps to disguise the expression in them. Too late. I’d seen it. Did I trust him? Might this be some kind of elaborate trap? No, it couldn’t be. No one could have predicted we’d arrive today. Something else must be at the root of the boy’s excitement. Something I couldn’t even guess at.
He indicated the track through the woods that surrounded his village– the track Arthur and I had arrived by.
Arthur rose from his makeshift throne and waved a regal hand. “Lead on.”
Con set off along the track, his natural long stride hampered by constant furtive glances over his shoulder, as though he expected us to perhaps vanish in a puff of smoke, or stop following him. Or maybe he hoped we would.
His behavior reminded me of when he’d found me, covered in mud and disorientated from my tumble back in time, and led me to his village. Every time he peeked over his shoulder at Arthur, his eyes slid involuntarily to me, then zipped away at speed. That feeling of there being something more to him persisted. Had Arthur noticed?
