Page 74 of The Quest for Excalibur
“A messenger has come from the Powys camp. King Cadwy asks for a meeting with you.”
My heart did a little, nervous flip as Arthur and Cei scrambled to their feet. Merlin remained seated, watching Arthur through narrowed eyes.
For a moment no one spoke, and then Arthur leaned down and caught my hand. “Come with me. I want you to hear this.” He pulled me to my feet.
I dropped the bread I’d been dipping in the bowl of olive oil, no longer hungry. A mixture of apprehension and excitement curdled what I’d already swallowed, and for a moment, before I had myself under control, I feared I might vomit.
“I want you to put this meeting in your book for that posterity you’re so fond of,” Arthur said. “You can come too, Cei, and you, Merlin. And you, Llacheu. You’ll keep Gwen safe for me.”
The young warrior’s eyes shone in delight at the honor of accompanying his father, even if it had been slightly tempered by being put in charge of the queen.
Merlin stood up. His eyes met mine, veiled and unreadable– a little shifty, even, but I had no time for reflection.
Cei threw down his half-eaten bread and cheese. “Could’ve waited till we’d eaten,” he muttered, wiping his mouth on his sleeve and passing on the skin of cider from which he’d been about to take a swig. “I’ll get a torch.”
Still in their mailshirts, the men only needed to grab their shields and don their helmets to be battle ready. I put my own helmet on and did up the straps with shaking fingers as Cei lifted his smoky torch.
“This’ll be interesting,” Merlin whispered as we followed Arthur and Llacheu out of the ring of sentries in the gathering gloom of twilight. From behind us came the last verses of the cheerful song, a few shouts of encouragement, the murmur of voices. Over the empty sweep of the downs to our right, a solitary owl swooped across the dark sky, silent and ghost-like on its nightly prowl.
Cadwy stood waiting for us in the gloom. Two burly, torch-carrying warriors stood behind him, armed as we were and with wolfskins capes draped around their shoulders against the rising chill of the autumn evening. Young Custennin flanked his father on his right, with a third man taking the other side. This was the man I’d thought familiar on the ride up from the road. Now helmetless, his austere, lined face became recognizable as a man more used to pulpit than sword. Archbishop Dubricius, Cadwy’s right-hand man.
Arthur halted ten yards from his brother, Cei and Merlin ranging themselves on either side of him to match the guards Cadwy had brought. Their hands rested lightly on their sword hilts.
I kept to one side, close to Llacheu, and from where I could see both Arthur and Cadwy’s faces, content to watch and not participate. My importance, as a woman, was off the bottom of the scale. However, nothing would stop me from making mental notes for the next entry in my book.
“Brother,” Arthur said, a slight nod of his head all that passed for a bow. He was High King, after all.
“Brother,” Cadwy returned, his nod every bit as small. The thick gold circlet that served him as a crown nestled in his greasy hair, as though he’d decided we needed reminding who he was.
Arthur, bare-headed and yet a hundred times more regal, cleared his throat. “I thank you again for responding so swiftly.”
Cadwy grunted. “I’m not the fool you take me for. I’m here to discuss your plan…ourplan of action.” His voice rumbled, gravelly and rough, and I’d have said he smoked sixty a day if I hadn’t known that to have been impossible.
He jerked his head at where Arthur’s hand rested on the ornate hilt of his sword, snug in its new scabbard. “Is that it?” A challenge edged his voice.
Custennin’s gaze sharpened as he, too, stared at the sword.
Arthur glanced down, brows raised a little as though seeing Excalibur for the first time. He shrugged. “If you want to know if this is the sword of Macsen Wledig, then just ask.”
Cadwy glowered, the torchlight flickering over his face making a gargoyle of him. “Well, is it?” The words hung between us.
Arthur nodded. “Yes. It is.”
How did Cadwy know about the sword? The story must have percolated about Britain by some sort of osmosis. Or did he have spies within Din Cadan, just as we had spies at Viroconium?
Cadwy’s fleshy upper lip curled in a sneer. “Fell into your hands, did it?”
“Something like that.”
For a long minute nothing more was said, the silence crackling with tension. Cadwy’s greedy, envious eyes lingered on the sword on his younger brother’s hip long enough to make my heart thud painfully in my throat.
Finally, he tore his gaze away, cleared his throat and spat a wad of phlegm onto the grass. “I’ve more experience at this than you.” His already piggy eyes narrowed to slits above his puffy cheeks. “Tell me, this army you spoke of in your message, how big is it? And do we know if it attacked King Einion at Caer Celemion? Have you had news from him?”
Arthur shook his head. “No scouts have reached us since his warning of the landings on the Tamesis. We have to assume his town’s fallen. And even if it hasn’t, we’ll get no help from that quarter. Sending men to us would leave him too vulnerable, being so close to occupied territory.”
“And Cerdic? Has his city fallen?”
“No. They marched on past and left it unmolested. Or so his messenger said.”
