Page 19 of Touched By Maen Llia
“Where is your scribe?” Catrin asked Tewdrig.
The king’s face turned an even deeper shade of red.
“I believe you killed his scribe, Catrin,” Merlin said.
Catrin drew herself up. “In that case, I will write the thing.” She went back to the gelding and dug in the saddle bag and withdrew the parchment, ink and pen she had found there earlier. She moved over to the small outcrop of rocks near the road, and leaned against the largest, to use it as a desk.
The writing of the agreement went swiftly—a simple list of what they had agreed upon, and the date—which she wrote as ‘mid-summer, this five hundred and sixth year of Christ’, and space for signatures.
“Write a second one to give to Tewdrig, so his new scribe can remind him of the conditions,” Merlin said over her shoulder. His eyes were dancing and Catrin wondered if he was amused by what she had done. Amusement would be better than anger. Perhaps the anger was still to come. They were all bluffing Tewdrig right now. Bedivere had let the king think that everyone in the palace was awake, aware and ready to ride to war at his signal, too.
Catrin wrote the second copy, and held the pen out to Tewdrig. “You must sign both copies,” she insisted.
Tewdrig scowled.
“Make your mark, man,” Merlin said, his tone sharp. “There are enough here to swear you signed it.”
Tewdrig took the pen and scratched a wavering cross where she pointed, on both sheets.
Catrin held the pen out to Merlin. He signed with a flourish and handed it back. Then he rolled one of the sheets and held it out to Tewdrig. “Enjoy your solstice feast,” he added.
Tewdrig snarled and snatched the parchment, turned and stomped up the hill to where his men were getting to their feet and preparing their horses.
Catrin remained where she was. She would not move until they had turned back the way they had come, and had ridden out of sight. Even then, she did not think she would ever relax. When Merlin returned to Camelot, would Tewdrig obey the terms? Or would Dyfed face another generation-long squabble over lands and waterways and food? It did not matter if Caron or Dai took the throne, she feared that neither of them had the strength to repel Tewdrig.
The Brycheiniog company clattered over the crest of the hill and finally, they were gone.
Catrin let her head hang.
Abruptly, Marcus was there, lifting her and squeezing, and laughing up at her. Bedivere and Merlin were, astonishingly, both smiling.
Catrin looked down at Marcus, at the warmth in his eyes, and let herself smile. Just a little.
Merlin said, “As my official spokesperson, Catrin, it is time for you to explain yourself.”
Her heart stammered. Catrin swallowed as Marcus put her back on her feet. “Yes, of course, Prince Merlin.” She took a deep breath.
Merlin shook his head. “Not here. We need to rouse Maridunum and set up patrols along the border until we’re sure Tewdrig is abiding by the new agreement. Come along. We’ve a fast ride ahead, and nothing but hard work after that.”
*
Merlin’s prediction was accurate, for when they reached the palace on the hill over Maridunum, still no one stirred.
“Ianto was a terrible wizard, but he was a fair alchemist,” Merlin muttered, as he rolled back Eira’s eyelid and examined her eye.
“More of that vile stuff you made me drink, then?” Bedivere asked.
“Yes,” Merlin said, standing up and rolling up his sleeves. “I’ll brew more in the kitchen. We’ll need a barrelful of it. Catrin, you can help me. Marcus, you help Bedivere pour it down throats. Catrin!” he called as he strode out of the room.
Catrin hurried after him. As she went, she pulled off the cloak and fur and tossed it from her.
In the kitchen, Merlin stood over the fire, staring at the cold ashes.
“I’ll start the fire,” Catrin said, reaching for the flint.
“No need,” Merlin said. “Put the big logs on—yes, those ones there.”
“But…kindling…”
