Page 16 of The Road to Avalon
Drustans made a poor job at suppressing his grin. “And every moment has been an honor and a privilege. But now I must claim my throne and serve my own people. I only hope I can be as good a king as you, my Lord Arthur.” Unspoken, but hanging in the air nevertheless, were the words “and claim my bride.” Not that Arthur knew anything about their previous liaison. Knowing the punishment for adultery, I’d never breathed a word of what had gone on between those two lovesick teenagers. All Arthur knew was that Drustans had loved her purely from afar. Merlin’s reaction when I told him what I’d caught them doing had been bad enough.
I pushed away my misgivings and fastened the straps on our saddlebags. Shouldering mine, I handed Arthur his. “Here. Let’s be on our way.”
Archfedd was already in the stables waiting beside her saddled horse.
“What’reyoudoing here?” Arthur asked as he shouldered his way along his own horse’s side to put her bridle on. “This isn’t a social outing.”
Archfedd shot me a look. “I know, but I’d like to come and pay my respects. Drustans has always been kind to me, and itishis father.”
What was going on here? I’d never noticed him pay any attention to Archfedd, not even now she’d grown so pretty. He didn’t have eyes for any of the girls, as far as I knew, even though many had thrown themselves at him. I’d long suspected he still carried his love for Essylt in his heart, which by the look on his face earlier, he did.
“You should stay,” Arthur said, his voice sharp. “We have to ride fast and hard to get there in time. And there’s no need for you to attend.”
Archfedd shifted her weight, a frown furrowing her brow. “But I’dliketo come.” Her eyes slid sideways to meet mine, pleading, perhaps willing me to understand. I didn’t, but the feeling this was important to her hit me.
“Let her come,” I said to Arthur. “She isn’t needed with the haymaking. We’re leaving enough men to bring in a goodly amount.” I paused, searching for a reason he’d accept. “She’s a king’s daughter and yet she’s never been further than Ynys Witrin. She deserves to see something of Britain.”
Arthur was doing up the throatlash on his bridle. He peered over his horse’s head at us. “You women,” he muttered. “Ganging up on me again. All right, you can have your way, and she can come. But I don’t want her being a nuisance.”
Archfedd’s shoulders rose in a sigh of… what? Relief? Why was it so important for her to come? Perhaps I was looking at it the wrong way around and the important thing was not to be left behind.
Not an hour after we’d returned from the hayfields, we were riding down the cobbled road from the southwest gates with forty warriors, leaving the ever-trustworthy Llacheu in command of the fortress in our absence. The journey to Caer Dore was something over a hundred miles, and whereas the messenger could have completed that in not much more than half a day, using the changes of horses we had stationed along the route, we would be taking longer. And in that time, with this heat, March’s corpse would be getting steadily riper. No time to waste.
A horse walks at about four miles per hour, trots at six or seven, and canters at up to twelve, but can’t do that top speed for hour after hour carrying the weight of an armed warrior. And armed we were, despite the comparative peace– only a fool would assume himself safe on the roads of Britain even now.
Three days would be needed to reach Caer Dore, most of it following the old Roman roads, but the last part over the rougher, countryside tracks of wild Cornubia. Plenty of time for me to wheedle out of Archfedd the reason for her request to come with us.
The summer weather held, a blessing in one way as we didn’t get wet, but in another a problem as we sweated profusely in our heavy mail shirts. We camped in the open, under the stars, which Archfedd found a huge adventure, and set out early in the mornings with the dew still fresh on the grass.
On the last stage of our journey, as we rode across the high granite uplands of what would one day be known as Bodmin Moor, I finally persuaded her to open up to me.
In the distance wild ponies and cattle grazed, with here and there a few sheep, small and brown rather than the fat white land-maggots of the twenty-first century. The chirruping song of a wheatear carried on the breeze, and overhead a merlin falcon called to his mate, his kek-kek-kek loud and insistent.
“It’s so beautiful everywhere,” Archfedd said, bending her head back so she could squint up into the powder-blue sky in an effort to spot the falcon. “Look. That’s like the bird Merlin has on his shield.”
“That’s because it is,” I said. “I imagine that’s why he chose it as his sigil.”
“Clever of him,” she said. “Could I have a sigil, do you think?” She tapped her plain white shield where it hung from one of her saddle horns, something she knew well how to use. “You’ve got your dragon ring on your shield, and I’d like to have something on mine.”
I smiled. “When you marry you could have the sigil of your husband.” If he was clearsighted enough to allow her the freedom to carry arms.
She frowned. “What if I don’t want to marry?”
Ah. At her age many girls were already mothers, but I’d not wanted that for her, and Arthur didn’t seem to have noticed she’d got so grownup. Or maybe he, too, didn’t want to lose her to some distant king or prince’s court.
“Well,” I said, trying to sound decisive. “Then a sigil for you is something we need to ask your father about. But maybe have some ideas ready of what you’d like on your shield when you ask him.” I chuckled. “Or he’ll have a suggestion of his own that you won’t like.”
She chuckled back. “I’d like a dove. A white dove. I was talking with Llawfrodedd about it, and he said whenever he sees one, it reminds him of me.”
I smiled to myself. He was the one who’d taught her to fight, and with whom she still practiced, and in return she’d taught him to read and to speak properly. From the scrawny boy who’d come to us asking to become a warrior, he’d turned into the sort of young man I could trust with my daughter.
We rode on, disturbing a herd of deer, who bounded away across the heather, white rumps bouncing like small targets.
“Why was it you didn’t want to stay behind at Din Cadan?” I asked, after a while.
She glanced sideways at me out of wary eyes.
I was right– something lay behind this.
