Page 66 of The Quest for Excalibur
Cei kept going. “And you’ve asked Cadwy for help as well? Are you mad?”
With a shake of his head, Arthur removed the stone weights and rolled up the map. “No, I’m not mad. The Saxons marched on past Caer Guinntguic, and Cerdic wisely stayed within his walls and watched them do so. Why fight and die when you can live to fight another day– and win? He pledged me loyalty at the Council of Kings– the first to do so. He may have Saxon blood in his veins, but I have to trust that he’ll come. And as for Cadwy, hasn’t he, too, sworn to support me? When I need support?”
Cei snorted. “I trust Cerdic and his Saxon blood more than I trust Cadwy, who shares your own. He’ll weigh up whether it’s good for him or not, before letting a single man of his take a step on the road to meet us.”
Merlin narrowed his eyes and nodded. “Swearing to send support is an entirely different thing to actually sending it.”
Too true. Would Cadwy come when called? Behind my back, I crossed my fingers.
Thanks to our system of messengers with fast horses, Arthur’s request for help would reach Caer Guinntguic, sixty miles away, by mid-afternoon, and Viroconium, a good hundred and sixty miles distant, within a day. But even if they set out straightaway, it could be days before we would see what support would be forthcoming. If any.
A big risk to take.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Outside the hall,the eastern horizon showed pink and gold, but as yet no sun had risen. In front of the stables, our men were mounting up in the chilly twilit morning, rubbing sleep from their eyes and yawning. I knew how they felt.
A few curls of smoke rose from the darkly thatched rooftops telling us some of the women were up and tending their hearths, but for the most part no one else stirred. Except for the fine-feathered cockerel who, disturbed by our noise, had strutted up to the peak of the Hall roof to rustily crow his morning greeting.
“Stupid bird,” Cei muttered, grumpy at this early hour, and hurled a stone in its general direction. It missed. The cockerel fluffed himself up proudly and crowed again, as though gloating over Cei’s poor aim. Arthur laughed, and even Merlin, somber-faced this morning, managed a smile.
A couple of servants led our horses out of the stables, the beasts puffing clouds of warm breath that hung like statues in the air. Arthur’s was Taran, the flashy bay King Garbaniawn of Ebrauc had gifted him after Llamrei’s death in battle. My Alezan, beautiful and contrary as usual, snapped at Taran in passing, ears flat back and eyes rolling her displeasure. Mind you, she’d never liked poor Llamrei either.
I took her reins from the servant and swung myself into the saddle, quickly finding my other stirrup. The servant passed me my shield and helmet, and I hooked them on the saddle horns just as the men had done. Someone had already attached my saddlebags.
A movement in the darkness of the stable doorway caught my eye. Amhar stood there, half-hidden, with his hand on the stout doorpost, brow lowered and lower-lip jutting, his eyes fixed on his father.
Arthur gathered Taran’s reins and set his foot in the stirrup, ready to mount, but before he could do so, Amhar bolted toward him out of the stables and grabbed his sleeve. Arthur swung around, eyes flashing, and mouth open ready to protest.
Seeing the expression on his father’s face, Amhar released the sleeve and stepped back, blanching.
Not a good time to be approaching his father.
Arthur took his foot out of the stirrup and faced Amhar, impatience written across his face and in his stance. “What is it? What d’you want? We’re in a hurry.”
For a moment Amhar stared at him wide-eyed, his mouth opening and shutting as though no words would come.
Arthur grunted his displeasure. “If you haven’t got anything to say, then go and do something useful somewhere else.” He turned back to Taran.
“Take me with you!” The words shot out of Amhar most likely faster and more loudly than he’d intended. Two spots of bright color flamed on his cheeks, but he stood his ground.
Oh no.
Arthur turned back, face dark with anger. “What? Take you with me? Into battle? Are you mad? You’re not twelve years old yet.” He scowled at his son. “And you’re too small to fight. Go and eat your breakfast and do some growing.”
Amhar staggered backwards, the color spreading across his face. Arthur turned back to Taran and didn’t see him dive down one of the side alleys between the buildings, stricken. But I did.
Just for a moment, I was torn. The need to dismount and run after my child battled with my need to go with my husband to this most fateful of battles. Alezan, picking up my disquiet, fidgeted under me, impatient hooves marking time in the dirt.
Arthur settled into his saddle and without another word, spun Taran around toward the track down to the main gates.
What to do? I peered down the alleyway, but Amhar had vanished. Go or stay?
Arthur had joined Cei and Merlin at the head of our army without a backward glance for me or our son. What had he done? Knocked Amhar back yet again. Did he have no tact? The wrong time for Amhar to have tackled him, for sure, but being a father meant making time for your children, even when pressed by urgency.
For a long moment, I dithered, as the last of our warriors joined the file of riders, and the head of the column passed through the gates.
If I went after Amhar they’d leave me behind. Despite my instincts screaming at me to go to my son, dealing with his hurt feelings would have to wait. Badon was now, within days, and Arthur needed me more. But was that the right decision? Who could tell? All I knew was that I had to concentrate on Arthur.
