Page 82 of The Road to Avalon
As soon as their party had set off, on foot and leaning on stout staffs, as befitted lay brothers and servant girls, Llawfrodedd took his leave of Gildas. I walked down to the monk’s wharf with him on leaden feet, my mind a whirl with how fast things were moving.
We passed the guard on duty and found Con sitting on the jetty, bare feet dangling in the water, with a basket of sleek, silvery fish beside him.
He scrambled to his feet as he heard us coming and set down his rod. “Milady, how goes it?” Anxiety edged his voice. Did he have some inkling that things were afoot? Dangerous things that might well affect his life as well as mine.
I managed a smile. “Could be better, but don’t worry yourself. Llawfrodedd and I have a plan.” Not much of one, but I wasn’t going to worry our young helper with that.
Llawfrodedd turned to face me. “Milady, please take care. I worry about you here alone. I think you should have gone with Archfedd and Reaghan.”
I kept that smile fixed on my face. “No need to worry about me. Like I told Archfedd, I’m of no interest to Medraut. It’s her he’s after, and she’s safe now. And if he does come here looking, he won’t find her. You can be sure of that.” I stepped up to him and gave him a hug.
For a moment he stiffened in surprise, as I’d never hugged him before. Then he lifted his arms and returned the embrace, a little self-consciously.
I patted his back. “Thank you, Llawfrodedd, for being a true friend when we needed one.”
When we parted, his face had blossomed with color, but he looked gratified at the praise. With a quick, nervous glance back at me, he stepped into the little boat, and Con pushed off into the channel with his pole. The water lapped about the craft’s shallow draft, and ripples arced away across the smooth surface of the water, shivering asunder the reflections of the blue sky and sleepy trees, just as this world was about to shatter.
Llawfrodedd, sitting on the thwarts in the bow of the boat, fixed anxious eyes on me as he lifted a hand in farewell before the marshy reedbeds swallowed him up and silence fell.
I stood for a while on the jetty as the ripples died away, gazing out at the reeds and the sun shimmering on the water as though nothing could be wrong with the day. Unbidden, my mind went back to another similar day, a long time ago, when I’d been here with Arthur. He’d sat on the edge of the jetty just like Con, beside old Nial, a friend from his boyhood, legs dangling, hair still wet from diving into the lake to find Excalibur. His words came back to me down the years. He’d said he sometimes wished he could stay like that forever, fishing in the sunshine.
I’d have had that day back a million times over if I could have.
*
Unfortunately, before Llawfrodeddhad the chance to return with more news of what was afoot at Din Cadan, I received other visitors, and this time, not by boat. Years ago, when I’d first come to Ynys Witrin through that time portal, the abbot had sent me on horseback to Din Cadan, following a secret causeway through the marshes, presumably because there’d been too many of us to go by boat. Even though every time I’d been back since, I’d come by boat, I’d known that secret path still existed.
A scrawny village boy came running up from the fields shouting in panic at the top of his voice. “Soldiers! Soldiers!”
I was in the gardens outside the abbey weeding with a couple of women from the village, Bethan and Nyfain, when I heard his shouts. The fields, where harvest was heading to a close, were full of lay brothers, monks and villagers. Every one of them ceased their work and straightened, staring toward the running boy as a current of panic sizzled through their ranks.
The soldiers arrived hot on the boy’s tail, emerging from the scrubby woodland that edged the monastic settlement in a body of glittering chainmail and helmets. Their mud-flecked horses were champing at their bits and tossing their heads at the still plentiful flies.
For one awful moment, the thought they might be Saxon raiders shot into my head. But no, Saxons would be on foot, so these had to be British warriors. Was it Arthur, come to find me? No. Not him. He was most likely still in Armorica. From behind Bethan and Nyfain I searched for the leader.
Medraut rode at the head, bare-headed and proud.
Ignoring the staring people, the column of riders approached the abbey. My two companions retreated toward the safety of the overhanging thatch, so I went with them, keeping my head bowed lest anyone saw my face, and wishing I had a hood to pull forward. I still wore the rough homespun of the other women. Surely no one would pick me out as a queen.
Medraut’s gaze swept blindly over me as the riders, forty strong, clattered through the gates into the abbey courtyard and out of sight. Far too late for me to run for the sanctuary of the church. Thank God we’d got Archfedd away.
Bethan, a girl in her late teens with a very pregnant belly, let out a hiss of breath between her teeth. “I ain’t never seen nothin’ like them soldiers. All shiny bright like that. Can’t mean nothin’ good that they’s forced some’un to show’em the way through they marshes.”
Nyfain, older and a lot thinner, nodded. “She be right. No good’ll come o’ soldiers comin’ to our abbey. They’s arter somethin’.” Her gaze went to me. “Might be you, I’m thinkin’.” They all knew who I was.
I pulled a face. “I’m nothing now. It’s my daughter that wicked man’s after.”
Bethan grinned, revealing crooked teeth. “Good thing your lass ain’t here then, int it? You did right to get her gone. I’d do that for my babby in a flash.” She put a supportive hand under her belly. “Does me good to git straightened up agin. Does my back in, weedin’.”
I managed a smile, but, in my own belly, doubt gnawed at me. Medraut must have come here with the intention of snatching Archfedd from sanctuary and forcing her back to marry him. How angry would he be when he discovered his little bird had flown?
I didn’t have long to wait.
Two warriors came striding out of the gates and headed for the garden where I still stood with my friends. Bran and Cyngal, the two young princes of Ebrauc who’d joined Medraut’s faction, marched up to me and bowed. I’d clearly been more recognizable than I’d thought.
“Milady Guinevere,” Bran, the older of the two said. “We’re to escort you to the abbot’s office.”
No point in arguing. I handed the hoe I’d been using to Nyfain, shelving the idea of taking it with me to hit Medraut with. Not such a good idea while he was surrounded by his own supporters.
