Page 43 of The Road to Avalon
We followed the servant’s shuffling feet to the ornately carved double doors of the king’s own apartments, where burly guards armed with spears and swords stood to attention on either side. They set their spears in a cross in front of the doors as we approached, their watchful eyes on us. No king is ever safe from an assassin’s knife, as I knew all too well.
“The Queen of Dumnonia and Princess Archfedd to see the King,” Merlin declared, and the servant confirmed his statement. The spears withdrew, and the guards saluted us, as the servant opened one of the doors and slipped inside.
A moment later he emerged and gestured to us to enter.
These were the rooms where King Uthyr Pendragon had lain dying twenty years ago. The rooms where Arthur had cleverly manipulated his father into insisting on our wedding, before Cadwy could engineer a putting aside of his wife so he could marry me, the Ring Maiden, himself. Something that would undoubtedly have happened but for Arthur’s clever moves.
Not in love with Arthur at that time, I hadn’t wanted any marriage, but the prospect of Cadwy as an alternative had driven me to it, and love had come later. A love so strong I’d remained here in the Dark Ages with Arthur when given the opportunity to return to my old world. And yet, if he got to our son first, and meted out his justice, how would I feel then? Was our love something that could stand that sort of test?
I didn’t know, and the hollow emptiness in my stomach bore witness to that. A hollow emptiness of dread and fear, gnawed away at me all my waking hours and much of the sleepless nights I’d had on our journey.
Uthyr’s outer chamber had changed very little. Underfoot lay the same black and white geometric mosaic, but the strewn furs had been banished. The faded fresco from Greek mythology still covered walls where every so often oil lamps sat in small niches, spreading their golden glow across the room.
Custennin sat at a solid oak desk in the best lit corner of the room. In front of this, two carved wooden bench seats stood, as piled with cushions as they’d once been, and between them the long low table where Cadwy had left poisoned wine for us to drink, so long ago.
In our boys’ clothes, Archfedd and I bowed to our kinsman, and Merlin did the same, more deeply.
Custennin, who must by now have been in his late twenties, rose to his feet and came around the table to greet us. Not a handsome man, with thick lips too like his father’s and a long, hooked nose, he was nevertheless clearly marked by the Pendragon genes. It being summer, and hot, he wore only a knee length tunic over bare brown legs and open sandals.
He held out his hands. “Aunt Gwen. Merlin. I bid you welcome, although it’s a surprise to see you here without my uncle. Please. Sit.” He gestured to the cushioned benches, and we all sat down, Archfedd and me on one, him and Merlin on the other.
“To what do I owe this pleasure?” he asked.
Now to the difficult part.
While I was struggling with what to say, Merlin took the lead. “We’ve come to see Morgana.”
A frown flitted across Custennin’s face, lowering his brows and giving him an unnerving look of his father. Thank goodness that was where any resemblance ended. “Then I have bad news for you,” he said. “My aunt is not here, nor has she been for some weeks.”
My stomach did a nervous flip and my shoulders sagged. All day, no, for the last three days, I’d been psyching myself up to face her, and now we were here, she wasn’t.
“Do you know where she is?” Archfedd butted in. “We have urgent business with her.”
“My daughter, the Princess Archfedd,” I said in a hurry in case Custennin hadn’t worked out who she was by our family resemblance.
Custennin shifted uncomfortably. “I believe she and her daughter are with her sister, my Aunt Morgawse, in Caer Legeion.”
I had the distinct impression he’d been glad to see the back of them. Wary distrust showed in his eyes, as if by wanting to see her, we’d allied ourselves with her faction.
His teeth caught in his lower lip. “At least, that is where she told me she was going.”
My heart sank. Eighty miles due south. If only we’d known, we could have been there by now.
“Then that’s where we must go,” I said, with as much conviction as I could muster.
Chapter Nineteen
Custennin furnished uswith overnight accommodation in the palace and politely pressed us to stay longer to recuperate after our headlong journey. We turned him down without revealing the reason we were searching for Morgana, and he didn’t ask. By the look of wary concern on his face he’d guessed it was not for something good, but the fact that she was his aunt didn’t seem to bother him. He had grown up with her, after all.
“I wish you well with that woman,” he said to me as we stood in the dawn-lit stableyard with my men mounting up. “You will be careful when you find her, won’t you?”
I met his gaze and nodded. Yes, he knew her well.
Despite the superficial facial resemblance to his father, he possessed nothing of Cadwy’s innate churlishness nor his underlying malevolence. Yes, he probably plotted and spied on the other courts– most likely every king did the same. But he’d proved his reliability as an ally since Badon on many occasions, and if Arthur trusted him, then so did I. And the fact that he didn’t care for his aunt helped a lot.
“We need to hurry,” Merlin said. “I’m sorry, my lord, but speed is of the essence in this matter.”
Custennin nodded, putting a steadying hand on my horse’s reins as I mounted. “Godspeed to your mission, Gwen, whatever it is.”
