Page 85 of The Road to Avalon
“Trumped up charges against him of treason. Someone claimed they’d heard him threatening to kill Medraut and Arthur. Of course, threatening Medraut shouldn’t have been punishable with death, and it was only words, after all, even if it were true. He had to say Drem’d threatened Arthur too, then he had an excuse for a public execution. Not been any more complaints since then. No one’s bold enough to come out and say Medraut’s behavin’ more’n’more like a king.”
“It’s only a matter of time before he declares he is,” I whispered.
Prophetic words. A week later, Coventina and I were summoned to outside the Hall, to find all the people of the fortress gathered there and Arthur’s throne carried out to stand in the autumn sunshine. Medraut was standing in front of it, with Cinbelin, Bran and Cyngal lined up behind him, and behind them a phalanx of his warriors, armed to the teeth, presumably in case of dissent.
“Oh my God, what’s he up to?” I hissed at Coventina as we were pushed to stand to one side of the throne, no doubt our presence being meant to lend legitimacy to his actions.
As soon as we were in position, Medraut took a step forward, holding up his hands like the winner of a boxing match. “My people,” he cried, above the general hubbub of mutterings emanating from everyone but his warriors.
He nodded to his men, and their swords slid from their scabbards. The men pointed them at the crowd, who fell silent with begrudging glares.
Seeming satisfied, Medraut went on. “My people. My warriors. I come before you to present myself and take my rightful place. Your old king left me in charge in his absence, and told me to do my best to uphold his peace. I have fulfilled his wishes. However, you see me before you with sad tidings. Your old king is dead. Behold your new king.”
Disbelieving silence met this pronouncement.
For a moment the world rocked, and my heart slid down into my boots. Arthur was dead? How could he be? Wouldn’t I have known, sensed, if he no longer existed? No. This couldn’t be true. Medraut was lying to facilitate his snatching of the throne, the kingdom and perhaps even the High Kingship.
The crowd warily muttered together, but as soon as the swords were raised, fell silent.
Coventina gripped my hand in a vicelike hold. “He can’t be dead,” she whispered without moving her lips. “What about Cei? And all their men? He took half his army with him. Theodoric too. They went in his ships.”
“It’s a lie,” I whispered back. “He’s making it up. I know he is.”
But was he? Did I have it all wrong and had Arthur died in Armorica, far from home at some Camlann of his own making? Would I never see him again? No. I refused to believe this lying bastard. Nothing that came out of his mouth was true.
Months had passed since Amhar’s death, and I could finally recognize it for what it had been. A murder engineered by Medraut, helped in part by Morgana. She’d died for it, which had scuppered her plans for Nimuë, and I’d not been in time to save my son. Did I still blame Arthur? How much of it had truly been his fault, and how much of it was something he’d been forced into by his own upholding of the law? Because Morgana had known he’d do that.
I bit my lip. How would I feel if what Medraut was claiming were true, and I never saw Arthur’s face again?
Tears formed in the corners of my eyes and trickled down my cheeks. The realization that I loved him, no matter what he’d done, cascaded over me. I always had, even when he’d killed my son. Love and hate were so entwined together. I could never forgive him for Amhar’s death, but at last I could understand why he’d done it, and I could still love him, despite everything.
A great wave of longing for him, stronger than anything I’d felt before, almost bowled me over in a tsunami of emotion. Grief, love, passion, anger, anxiety, all mixed up together. He couldn’t be dead. He just couldn’t. We’d parted as enemies. I had to be able to tell him I still loved him. I had to.
Medraut was speaking again. “As his heir, it is my obligation to take his throne and crown.”
Something glittered in his hands, catching the sunlight. A gold circlet. Arthur’s gold circlet. Oh my God. He was going to crown himself with Arthur’s crown. Suddenly I remembered Archfedd telling me on the beach at Din Tagel what she’d seen in her grandmother’s scrying glass. Herself, wearing my crown. And yet, she wasn’t here. Medraut would sit on that throne alone, the only one to wear a crown. Had we somehow changed what she’d seen in the scrying glass and made the world a little bit different? And if we’d done that, could we have made Arthur’s future different as well?
Medraut raised the crown in both hands. “I am your new king,” he announced, and set the crown amongst his dark curls. For a long moment, he stared around at the crowd, as if daring any one of them to step forward and protest. They didn’t. With a self-satisfied smile, he sat down on Arthur’s throne, resting his hands on the arms.
Cinbelin threw back his head. “Long live the king,” he bellowed.
The cheer that rose toward the sky came mostly from the armed warriors. It pleased me to see the crowd of ordinary people mutter under their breath as they glowered at the man sitting on Arthur’s throne.
Chapter Thirty-Six
“Arthur isn’t dead,I’m certain of it,” I said to Coventina when we were at last back in her house and out of earshot of anyone who might report our words to Medraut.
She nodded. “And if he’s not, Cei’s not either. I refuse to believe either of them can be dead.” She kept her voice low and scowled at the door we’d made sure to close behind us as though it had sprouted ears.
Were we both clinging to this as a forlorn hope? I wouldn’t think about it. We had to work on the belief that it was all a lie, that what I knew of the legends was true.
I paced up and down next to the fire where a cauldron of stew sat simmering in the hot ashes. With the door shut, the atmosphere inside the hut had grown warm and smoky. “If Arthur’s not dead, then we have to warn him what’s happening here. He’ll be returning from Armorica before too long. He’ll want to do that before autumn storms might make crossing the Channel difficult. We have to let him know what Medraut’s done.”
My heart flipped over. What the hell was I planning on doing? Luring Arthur to his Camlann? It felt like it. But Camlann was no longer something to be avoided. Instead, it loomed as something inevitable to be met head on and overcome.
Coventina gave the stew a stir as Keelia, her maid, wasn’t with us. “But how? What can we do that Medraut won’t find out about?”
I halted beside her. “I’d gladly go to warn Arthur if I could, but if I go missing, he’s bound to notice and guess what I’ve done. Likewise, you can’t go. And anyway, you couldn’t ride that far. Not with your health problems.”
