Page 18 of Touched By Maen Llia
Tewdrig lifted his hand to the man. “No,” he said quietly. He looked at Catrin. “If you speak for Prince Merlin, then tell me what he wants and I will consider it.”
“My lord…!” his companion protested. “She is alone! She delays us, that is all.”
“If she truly speaks for Merlin, then we’d best deal with her,” Tewdrig replied. “If she does not, and no army stands behind her, then we can take her as our first victory.”
The sound of more horses approaching at a great gallop echoed around them, making Catrin turn and search for the direction they came in, her heart screaming, terror building in her. The three horses appeared, galloping abreast along the road from the south, climbing the hill toward them.
The Pendragon banner with the red clawing, climbing dragon waved over the top of them. Marcus carried the banner.
Bedivere rode on the far side.
And Merlin was between them.
Catrin fought the dizziness trying to swamp her and turned back to Tewdrig. “I have no need of an army,” she told him. “As you can see. For that is Prince Merlin, and Lord Bedivere, King Arthur’s War Duke.”
Tewdrig scowled.
X
The two parties drew off the road, and Ianto’s body was rolled aside, too. The horses were secured and everyone met upon the open turf. It was a high, lonely spot from where one could see the sea on the far horizon, and Maridunum, far below to the southwest.
Catrin’s hands trembled as she settled a rock upon the gelding’s reins, straightened the cloak and fur about her shoulders and smoothed her tunic, beneath the sword belt. She pushed her hair back over her shoulders and moved to where Marcus had planted the Pendragon banner in the ground. It lifted and billowed in the wind that nearly always whistled across the tops of these hills.
Tewdrig stood with his hands on his ample hips, beneath his banner, watching the four people from Dyfed arrange themselves. “Now, see here, Merlin—”
“That’s Prince Merlin to you, Brycheiniog,” Bedivere growled, his hand on his sword hilt.
Tewdrig raised his hand, a gesture of peace. “Prince Merlin. No one told me you were here. We were given the impression Dyfed was crumbling into dust while two fools fought each other over the rights of it.”
“As you can see, that is not the case,” Merlin replied. “Who is to be kingisto be determined, but the kingdom is very much whole and hearty.” He fixed Tewdrig with a scowl.
“Your man—woman...I mean. The lady said she spoke for you. It’s a deal you’ve in mind then?”
Catrin held her breath, not daring to look at Merlin. Now her bluff would be laid bare…
“I’ve a mind for the truce that held between you and Geraint to continue, but you’d best deal with the lady, Tewdrig,” Merlin said. “Thatiswhy I sent her.”
Catrin drew in a shuddering breath, trying to control it so the sound did not reveal her relief. She stepped forward with her chin up as if this was perfectly normal, something she did every day. She put herself next to Merlin, who turned to her, rested his hand on her shoulder and murmured in her ear, “Give them access to the river if you must, but otherwise, they get nothing more than they already have.” He patted her shoulder and strode back toward the horses.
Marcus and Bedivere were already there.
Catrin drew in another deep breath. Merlin’s whisper had given her all the information she needed. She was familiar with the truce terms Geraint had wrangled out of Tewdrig, after listening to the King complain about them for years. Access to the river, and the ships with their trade goods and food, and the ability to move their own goods to distant lands was a prize she could dangle in front of Tewdrig, to bring him to the point of agreement on a new truce.
And she had stood beside Eira for years, watching Geraint bargain with kings and lords and clan leaders…
She could do this.
Catrin lifted her chin once more and smiled at Tewdrig, who scowled back. “Let’s start with the terms of the old truce, shall we?”
*
Tewdrig agreed to the terms. He had no choice, in the end. Not if he wanted free access to the river, which had been the point of contention between land-locked Brycheiniog and Dyfed for generations.
“Of course, we will agree to this in writing,” Catrin told the king. “So that neither kingdom has reason to forget the terms.”
“In writing?” Tewdrig blustered, his face turning red.
“It is the way of it, now,” Merlin said from directly behind Catrin. His approach had been silent.
