Page 40 of The Road to Avalon
The people who’d retreated to the doors, crept forward again, watchful, wary eyes on their lord.
*
We buried Llacheuthe next day in the graveyard beside the tiny church at the bottom of the hill. Six warriors carried his bier and the priest performed a Christian ceremony in the fresh air for the benefit of his mother more than us. All the inhabitants of the fortress attended, and most of the farmers and villagers, from the youngest child to the oldest crone, making a crowd ten deep around the grave. And once the grave had been filled in, flowers from people’s gardens and the hedgerows covered it in a mantle of color. A tribute to how highly he’d been regarded.
It was under cover of the funeral that Amhar fled. None of us noticed him missing until the evening, when Medraut, all innocent and puzzled, asked us if we’d seen him. We hadn’t, and detective work by Merlin soon discovered that his horse had vanished as well.
“His flight declares his guilt,” Cei said, as we stood together in the Hall, his usually affable face distorted in disgust. “He’s run from fear of being apprehended. From fear of your rightful wrath.”
Arthur’s fists clenched. “I didn’t want to believe it of him. I couldn’t bring myself to. How can I even now?”
I put a wary hand on his arm.
Merlin met my gaze, his dark eyes troubled.
“I know it’s hard to believe of your own son, but now it’s proven,” Cei said. “By his own actions, he’s condemned. What will you do?”
I stared from one to the other of them in horror, remembering with reluctance how the renegade king of Dinas Brent, Melwas, had boasted of his climb to kingship over the bodies of his murdered brothers and how he’d gotten away with it. Fratricide was not unknown, so why was it so shocking that Amhar might have done the same to rid himself of a perceived rival? This was the Dark Ages, not twenty-first-century Britain. His jealousy of Llacheu had been brewing for years, and Arthur hadn’t helped by singling out his oldest son, no matter what he said about having no favorites.
Arthur nodded, face set. “You’re right. I am the High King and must be seen to uphold the law. No son of mine commits murder without retribution. But first, before I act, I need Merlin’s wisdom.” He turned to face his old friend.
Merlin shifted uncomfortably, probably not liking being put on the spot. “How can I help?”
Arthur frowned. “By using your Sight. Look, and tell me what you see. Find out for me if my son has committed this terrible crime. Did he kill his brother?”
Merlin hesitated, his tongue darting around his lips. “I have tried to look,” he said, after a moment. “But my vision is clouded.”
No wonder he looked shifty. This wasn’t an answer liable to help in any way. And when men like my husband posed a question, they wanted an immediate and clear answer.
Cei moved a step closer, everything about him threatening. “Then tell us, Seer, what it is youhaveseen.”
Merlin shook his head, shoulders sagging. “I cannot. Something clouds my Sight. The moment we found him, I tried to look. It’s the best time to find a link. But nothing came to me but darkness. Don’t think I haven’t looked again. I have, but all I see is thick mist.” He shook his head a second time as though to clear it. “I fear something is deliberately blocking me.”
Or someone. Hadn’t Morgana interfered with Merlin’s gift before, to block it? Maybe she was doing the same thing right now. But why? What earthly reason could she have to prevent Merlin seeing who had killed Llacheu? Unless she had something to do with it herself. But why would anyone want to kill Arthur’s baseborn son? Despite Amhar’s jealousy, Llacheu had posed no threat to his position, and Cadwy, who might have done so out of a grudge, was long dead.
Arthur spun away and strode down the Hall on restless legs. “Then we must presume him guilty and act accordingly. He must be brought to justice.”
Not my son.
What had we come to that Arthur was calling for something that might ultimately be a death warrant? My breath died in my throat, and my heart pounded so loud and so fast, surely those around me must have heard it. The world spun. The ground came up to meet me with a bang, and my cheek pressed into the dusty reeds. I shut my eyes to stop the incessant spinning.
“Gwen!”
“The queen. Give her air.”
“Stand back.”
Slowly the world ceased to roll beneath my body, and I managed to open my eyes to a steady view instead of a whirling vortex. My breath returned, and someone put their hands under my arms to hoist me into a sitting position. For a moment everything spun again before settling.
Arthur’s face appeared in front of mine. “Gwen. Are you all right?”
I managed the smallest of nods, afraid to set off that spinning again, afraid I’d vomit in front of everyone.
“Can you stand?”
I held onto him while he helped me to my feet, unsure whether I might fall again. His arm went around my waist, strong and supportive, and I leaned closer to his body. “Don’t assume it was Amhar. Please,” I whispered.
His head whipped round, his face inches from mine. “I’m not assuming anything until it’s proven. But as he’s run, what am I supposed to think? That he’s run because he’s upset that the brother he resented has been killed? The brother he couldn’t bring himself to show respect to even in death.”
