Page 61 of The Road to Avalon
How could we be discussing this as though nothing bad had happened? Why was I so numb? I screwed my hands up and dug my nails into their palms in the effort to feel something… anything, other than this cold acceptance of what he was telling me. As though all of this had happened to someone else, not to my son, not to me.
“Last night his trail led us to the hill of Caer Guorthegirn. He’d been hiding there with a bunch of shepherds who for some reason had taken him under their wing as a persecuted hero. He’d ridden in, a handsome boy on his exhausted horse, wearing armor and carrying a sword and spear, and they decided to protect him. A romantic hero, perhaps.” He shook his head. “Or perhaps they seized upon him as their chance to cock-a-snook at their ruler? Who knows?”
Or perhaps their Seer had seen his innocence and his need for help.
I shook my head. “I went there. I was too late.” Always too late. Too far behind him. Never destined to be in time. I couldn’t avoid the thought that fate had meant for me to arrive too late.
I’d thought I’d found my purpose in the Dark Ages– to save Amhar. I’d been wrong. I had no purpose. I could change nothing. I might as well have never come, or stayed. I’d made no difference at all.
If we’d not ridden to Viroconium or Caer Legeion, we’d have been in time. We’d have met Amhar before ever Arthur reached him. If Merlin had been able to see where Amhar was, we’d have been in time. If… if… if… But everything had been stacked against us. Fate had defeated us.
Cei grunted. “The boy had already left the old fort, riding north. He was heading toward Viroconium. Maybe he thought he’d get a hearing there. Maybe he thought Custennin would welcome him with open arms as his father used to be Arthur’s enemy. Your boy never did have any sense.”
“And you caught him here?”
He glanced around himself, shrugged, and nodded. “We did. His horse had gone lame. He had no other. He was walking, leading it, when our outriders caught up with him. They saw him hide in…” He stopped.
“Where?”
He licked his lips. “In the barn where we’ve left Archfedd with Llawfrodedd.”
Someonehad carried me into the very place where they’d captured Amhar. They’d surprised him in there with his lame horse, drawn their swords and taken him prisoner. How frightened had he been, knowing his father was on the way?
“When? How long ago?” I had to know. The question burning in my heart nagged me to ask the question. I needed to know by how much I’d been too late.
“They caught him a couple of hours after dawn.”
I could have done it. We could have pushed on harder and been here in time. We could have, even on our heavy workhorses. “So, when Arthur arrived, you set up a kangaroo court? Here, in the middle of nowhere?”
His eyes widened at the unexpected word.
“A makeshift court.”
He nodded.
“And whose idea was that?” Oh, the bitterness in my voice. Like I didn’t know who’d been prosecutor, judge and jury. Then executioner.
“Arthur’s.”
As much as desperation had been driving me, it must also have been driving Arthur. I’d loved Llacheu like my own, or so I’d thought. But now, faced with my own son’s death, I knew that wasn’t true. I’d always loved Amhar that bit more. He was mine, and Llacheu never had been. I’d carried Amhar inside my body for nine months, nursed him, kissed him better when he fell, seen him grow into a handsome young man. A young man I’d loved.
How would it have been if Llacheu had belonged to me as well? Been really mine, not Arthur’s bastard son. How if two sons of my body had fought, and one had killed the other? How would I have supported the one who’d killed his brother? That was how it had been for Arthur– how he’dthoughtit had been. Would I have wanted the killer dead? Or would I have been prepared to forgive– as old Olwyn had at the last forgiven her only surviving son, Melwas, for his cruelty and the murders of his brothers? Could I have done what she did? Or would I, like Arthur, have wanted him dead in revenge for his brother’s death?
But Arthur had been constrained by the law. As High King, he saw himself as its upholder.
My mouth had gone paper dry. “Did Arthur not question him?” The words came out as a raspy whisper I could barely string together.
“He did.”
“And didn’t Amhar deny the accusation?”
Cei shifted uneasily. “No. He didn’t.”
What?He hadn’t denied it? Had Merlin been wrong, after all, maybe guilty of telling me what I wanted to hear? My legs gave way, and I sat down hard in the scuffed dirt at the side of the road, my face in my hands.
With a thump, Cei sat down beside me. So close I could smell the sweat on him and feel the warmth radiating from his body. Despite the heat of the day, mine had gone icy cold.
My hands smelled of horses and dirt. I lowered them and stared at Cei. Tears glimmered in his kind blue eyes.
