Page 98 of The Quest for Excalibur
Our people. My people. They’d been that for a long time now, but the thought never ceased to amaze me, bringing a tear to my eye.
My tired spirits rose with every cry of welcome and every hand I touched. Alezan pricked her ears and picked up her feet with renewed vigor instead of plodding up the roadway, as the shouts of praise showered upon us.
Arthur had sent news of our victory on ahead by fast riders, so everyone knew we’d won. Easy to be carried away by the atmosphere of rejoicing. If I tried hard not to think of those who weren’t returning, I could almost find it in me to think the battle, and my part in causing it, worth it.
But not quite.
Young girls, some of them wives already, ran beside our horses, laughing up at their sweethearts, promise written across their open, pink-cheeked faces. But what about the wives and sweethearts of the dead? The young men buried out beside that lonely woodland, their grave marked only by an earthen mound, that all too soon would grass over, sink and be forgotten. They were not rejoicing.
Amongst the happy faces lurked the heartbroken, turning away with tears in their eyes. Some clutched fatherless babies to their breasts, some wept for sons they’d never see again. When I looked at them, my spirits sank once more, and I couldn’t find it in me to be happy.
Our young apprentice warriors ran up the road with us to the stables, ready to help with the horses. Amongst their eager, excited, and openly envious faces I searched for Amhar’s, but didn’t find him.
A few torches already burned in brackets on the outside wall of the open-fronted stable block, swiftly ushering in the night. The familiar smell of dung and ammonia, and the whinnying from the horses already in occupation, welcomed us home.
Cei leapt off his horse, his head switching from side to side like a hound scenting the air. “It’s good to be home. Where’s my wife?” He thrust his horse’s reins at a boy. “Coventina!” His bellow was enough to shake the foundations of the building.
“Cei!” She came running, elbowing her way through the press of people and horses, Reaghan following behind her like the bobbing tender of a great sailing ship.
Cei swept her up into his arms– no mean feat given her size, and planted a long kiss on her lips. Reaghan hung onto his arm, jumping up and down in impatience. “Papa! Papa!”
Over their heads I scanned the crowd for Amhar and still didn’t find him.
Arthur swung his right leg over the pommel of his saddle and slid to the ground. Only a small wince betrayed how much his left shoulder must still be paining him, although it was healing remarkably well. He held out his good arm to me, and I slid down from Alezan into his embrace, glad to feel him holding me close for a short moment.
Two boys took our horses. Someone other than us could tend to them this evening. I slipped my arm around Arthur’s waist as the older men who’d remained to guard Din Cadan slapped him on the back and shouted their congratulations, making him wince time after time.
“Well done, lad.”
“Dumnonia rules!”
“That showed the Yellow Haired bastards.”
In my old world, if I’d ever stopped to think about it, or discussed it with my father, we’d imagined King Arthur would be a noble king, distant from his people, divided from them by his status and birth.
This was something different. If only my father could see. Maybe he could? Arthur wore his kingliness like a familiar cloak, but one he could shrug off whenever it suited him. He knew his people by name, from the oldest retired warrior down to the smallest baby. And they loved him for it. What king in my old world could you slap on the back like this as though he was a friend you’d met in the local pub? What king could you laugh and joke with even if you were just the pigboy?
But he was mine before he was theirs. I caught his hand and tugged him with me toward the Great Hall. All around us, the mill of people churned, warriors and horses mixed up with the welcoming party, men kissing women, fathers greeting wives while their children clamored for attention, a few babies wailing.
A small rocket hurtled into me, arms outstretched to encompass us both, her chestnut head buried between us, two fat plaits hanging down her back.
“Archfedd!” I wrapped my free arm around her.
“Mami, Papa.” Her voice came muffled from amongst our thick, damp cloaks, her fingers hooked on like limpets. “You’re back!”
To stop Arthur trying to pick her up, I heaved her into my arms and hugged her close. “We’re back safely, just as I said we would be. Where’s your brother?”
Arthur tousled the top of her head, meeting my eyes above it. “It’s good to be home.”
“Amhar’s being grumpy,” Archfedd muttered, lower lip jutting. “Again.” She heaved a sigh and leaned away. “He keeps being mean. He… he said you weren’t coming home. Maia said to take no notice… but he’s my brother, and I don’t like it.” A wet kiss landed on my cheek. “Maia said it was just boys, but Llawfrodedd’s not like that. He’s nice, and kind, and I like him. He said to take no notice as well. But it’s so hard. I was scared he was right.” She held her arms out to Arthur.
He reached for her, but I shook my head. “Papa’s hurt his shoulder and can’t go lifting you up at the moment. And you’re getting too heavy for me, so I’ll have to put you down.” I plonked her on her own two feet. Had she grown since we left? Surely not in hardly more than a week. Maybe I’d just forgotten how heavy she’d become.
She grabbed a hand from each of us, tugging, unfortunately, Arthur’s left hand.
I pried her free. “Not that hand. Swap over.” With her between us, we walked up to the hall, where Maia waited in the gathering gloom, under the overhanging thatch. I hugged my maid to me with a fierce joy at seeing her familiar face again, and she put her thin arms around me.
But where was Amhar?
