Page 101 of The Road to Avalon
Cei and Bedwyr exchanged worried glances. Perhaps they thought I wanted to pray to the old gods. To Gwynn ap Nudd for intervention. Let them think that if they wanted. That might well be all I’d get to do.
The wagon rumbled past the abbey. No monks in the fields to see us pass as they must all be at prayer. Vespers, probably, or even Compline. I knew a lot more than I wanted to about abbey prayers.
The path curved through woodland. As we emerged from its sheltering gloom, I caught my breath.
Two lonely figures stood at the start of the narrow path up the Tor. Archfedd and Reaghan, hand in hand. How had they even known to be here? I’d ask that later. The pawns had been turned into queens and we were assembled to greet our king. No matter that neither were queens now– I felt sure they both would be one day, even if I never saw that day.
The mud-splattered wagon halted beside them.
They darted to the back and Cei jumped out to take his daughter in his arms.
Archfedd pushed past them. “Father?” Her gaze fell on Arthur, and her hand went to her mouth.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” I said, ignoring Bedwyr’s sharp intake of breath at my judicious lie. “He’snotgoing to die. I won’t let him.” I caught her hand. “Medraut’s dead, though. You’re safe.Ikilled him, and I very much enjoyed doing it.”
Archfedd’s eyes widened but she made no comment. We’d gone beyond that between us.
I glanced at Reaghan and Cei, then back to Archfedd. “We have to get Arthur up to the summit of the Tor. You need to come. All of you.”
Archfedd’s eyes went wide with shock. “Is he…?”
Had she not been listening? “No, of course he’s not dead. Pull yourself together. You’re stronger than this. Get Reaghan.”
“Doan ask me to take my horses up there. Thass as far as I can get ee,” the driver said, tugging his sparse gray forelock as his lower lip jutted in rebellion. “My horses ain’t fit fer pullin’ up a hill like thissun. ’Twud be dang’rous in a wagon.”
I hadn’t expected anything else. Hence the board.
I slithered down from the wagon and nodded to the men who’d ridden with us. “Dismount. Tie your horses to the wagon. You four men take a corner each. We’re going up the hill. The rest of you can come too and take it in turns carrying him. Hurry. We’ve wasted enough time already. You too, Con.”
They did as they were told, and we started up the long drag, the least steep access to a very steep hill. Carrying their precious load as though made of glass, they all too slowly followed the path up toward the distant summit where the circle of standing stones stood stark against the paling evening sky. As we walked, the sinking sun cast our lengthening shadows across the grass in front of us.
I wanted to shout at them to hurry, but they were being careful, and I couldn’t sacrifice that for speed however much I longed to. I wanted to check he was still alive, but I couldn’t spare the time to stop. He lay still, like the dead, but sweat still beaded his skin.He must be alive. He must.
I walked behind the stretcher party, the better to reassure myself they weren’t bumping Arthur too much. Archfedd held tight to my hand, and Reaghan walked behind at her father’s side in frightened silence.
Like the wagon ride, this walk up the Tor took forever. Impatience racked my soul.Would we be too late? Would my idea work? Was I as mad as Bedwyr thought?
At last, though, with the sun nearing the western horizon, we made it to the top. “Put him down inside the stone circle,” I said, at my most authoritative, still barely clinging on to reason.
Exchanging nervous glances, the men lowered the wooden stretcher to grass short nibbled by the island sheep, no respecters of holy places, and liberally speckled with their droppings.
“Now what?” Bedwyr asked, the worried frown on his face fixed in position.
Arthur stirred, and his eyes opened. “Bedwyr.” Very faint. “Come here.”
Bedwyr and I dropped to our knees beside him, the grass prickly and dry. “Yes?” Bedwyr took Arthur’s hand.
Arthur shifted his head and his fingertips touched Excalibur where it lay by his side. “Take my sword.” A little more blood trickled from his mouth.Where was he bleeding from?
Bedwyr’s eyes widened at the request. I could have told him what was coming next. The legend yet again. Could Ineverescape it?
“Take my sword,” Arthur repeated, his voice gaining strength. “Throw it into the lake. Con will show you where.” His eyes flicked to Con, who’d moved back to allow us space.
“Milord,” Con muttered, sketching a clumsy bow.
“But it’s the sword of Macsen Wledig,” Bedwyr protested. “I can’t throw it in a lake.”
A sad smile flitted over Arthur’s face. “I used it badly, Bedwyr, my friend.” He paused and drew a painful breath, brow furrowing. “I used it to kill my innocent son.” He coughed and more blood bubbled. “I can’t blame Medraut for that… he didn’tmakeme do it.” A tear trickled down his cheek. “But he made me think Amhar killed Llacheu. He knew I’d execute the killer.” He paused again, struggling for breath. “But I was wrong.”
