Page 54 of The Road to Avalon
The boy silently indicated the way to go, kicking his pony into a canter with his bare heels. I urged my own horse into a lumbering canter, and her large ears twitched forward obligingly. But the steepness of the twisting, stony road where it ran between rocky outcrops defeated her. She fell back to trot then walk, her sides heaving. Horses that pulled wagons were not designed to gallop into battle, nor even up hills.
Llawfrodedd and Archfedd brought their sweating horses alongside mine, and she reached out a hand to clutch my sleeve. Her eyes were sooty smudges in a face pale beneath the tan. “I only pray we’re here in time.”
I nodded mutely in reply, unable to put into words how I felt; not wanting to even try.
Back in single file, we followed the boy’s surefooted pony up a narrow track that might once have been much wider. As we approached the summit, rocky walls reared up above us, carved by nature out of the bare limestone. We passed through a narrow defile, and emerged into the wide, tussocky interior.
Small brown sheep galloped away as they spotted us, long tails flying. Fat lambs bounded after their mothers, bleating in panic.
In the center of the plateau a group of rough round huts clustered together, and it was from these that the smoke was rising into the clear blue sky. The men who’d been sitting around an outdoor hearth leapt to their feet in alarm. In moments they’d formed a defensive group on the edge of their camp, staring at us from weather-beaten, belligerent faces. Each man gripped a stout curved crook taller than he was, and had a hand resting on the long knife tucked in his belt. Not much to defend themselves with against armed warriors, but enough to do us damage.
Our guide cantered across the tussocky grass to join the men, one of whom must have been his father. He slid off his pony and edged closer, suddenly finding his voice as he muttered to the nearest man.
Hope soared in my heart at the lack of evidence of Arthur having been here.
I kicked my sturdy horse on and hauled her to a halt a bare ten feet from the men. With shaking fingers, I undid the strap and pulled off my helmet, letting them see I was a woman. Llawfrodedd and Archfedd brought their horses up on either side behind me, and I waved a hand to keep the rest of our men back. We didn’t want to frighten these shepherds any more than they already had been.
Might they be sheltering Amhar here? Even an idiot could see no sign of Arthur or his men.
I sat straighter in my saddle. “I’m looking for my son,” I said, letting my gaze run over the shepherds. “Prince Amhar of Dumnonia. Have you seen him?”
Chapter Twenty-Three
The shepherds staredup at me out of wary eyes. Above our heads a buzzard soared on a thermal, his mewling call plaintive and loud in the silence, and from further off came the bleating of the sheep. Several of the simple leather flaps that served for doors on the huts opened, and a few burly women in long, dirty tunics emerged to stand squarely to either side of the fire. As every one of them gripped gnarled cudgels, they looked, if anything, more dangerous than their menfolk.
I didn’t care how threatening they looked. “Is my son here?” I raised my voice, even though the day was still with no wind to snatch my words away.
The men and women alike looked me up and down, wary curiosity in their gazes, no doubt taking in my long braid, my armor, and the helmet hanging in my hand. Low voiced and suspicious, they muttered between themselves for a minute, never taking their eyes from us.
One of them took a step forward, planting his crook butt-end on the ground by his wide-spread, booted feet. His long gray hair hung about his lined face in rat tails and his empty hand went up to rasp over the grizzled beard adorning his chin. “Who beyou, then? A-comin’ an-askin’ of us poor ord’nary folk after a lost lordling.”
I sensed rather than heard Llawfrodedd about to speak and held up a hand to silence him. I could do this for myself. I had to. “I am the wife of your High King. His Queen. I am here to save my son and to beg your help.”
Let him be here. Please, God, let him be here, hidden somewhere in one of these huts.
The man sucked his lips in for a moment, as though giving himself time to think. “What makes you think a king’s son might have owt to do with the likes of us?” Deep distrust of strange armed warriors invading his home territory laced every word.
The men behind him muttered their agreement. “You tell her, Peibio.”
“Tell her to clear off.”
“We doan want nothin’ to do with kings and queens.”
“I have it on good advice that he is here with you,” I said, squaring my shoulders in determination and fixing my gaze on the women. Some of them must be mothers, surely. They must understand a mother’s love for her son.
I heaved a breath to steady my taut nerves. “I was sent here by one who possesses the Sight to find my son.”
The women kept on regarding me out of cold, suspicion-filled eyes. Did they think I was lying?
I kept going, desperate to appeal to their dormant better natures. “Imustfind him before his father does, for the High King believes my son has committed a terrible crime.” I scanned their coarse-featured, grubby faces, willing them to understand. “Iknowhe didn’t do it, and I must tell his father he’s innocent before he finds him and punishes him… I have to find my son before his father does…” I faltered, at a loss for more words. My leaden weight sagged my shoulders and my imploring eyes fixed on the women’s faces, waiting.
The men hadn’t moved, but a low murmur of unrest ran between them as they continued to study us from beneath bushy, unkempt brows.
One of the women shouldered her way past the men to the front of the group, and they fell back to let her pass, eyeing her with respect. Tall and powerful, and probably a good ten years my junior, she had a strong face that had never been beautiful but always noble, like some mythical Amazon woman. “She do speak the truth,” she said. “I saw her a-comin’ in my dreamtime.”
The leader took a hurried step back to give her prominence, bowing his head, a furtive look of something akin to awe in his eyes. This woman held a place of honor within her makeshift village.
Six feet from my horse, the woman halted, gazing up out of clear gray eyes. Eyes to be trusted. “I did see your man of magic send you here,” she said. “And I must warn you to be quick, for you have gone an’ left him in mortal danger.” She stepped closer still, her hand moving to rest on my horse’s mane. “Your son were here. Indeed he were, a-hidin’ from his pa. A handsome princeling who’d done nothin’ more than envy his brother. But he int here now. We couldn’t keep him safe no longer. He had to run. Danger do threaten your boy even as we speak, same as your man o’ magic. You must choose– your man o’ magic or your boy.”
