War Duke of Britain

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  Cador did not laugh at her, as many men might have. He bowed his head once more, his expression grave. “By all means, continue in your duties. Perhaps, while you are guarding your lord, you would also escort me to Galleva, so I may speak with Ector. There is grave news.”

  The two men on the path groaned, coming around. Cador considered them, grimaced, then put his fingers to his lips and whistled, a soft two-tone note. Instantly, six other men stepped onto the narrow road, putting their swords up.

  Cador looked apologetic. “You were outnumbered,” he told Emrys and Cai.

  Cai just laughed. “You may tell yourself that,” he said cheerfully and clapped Cador on the shoulder with one big hand. Cador staggered under the impact.

  “Myrddin, why don’t you go home?” Emrys said, carefully avoiding mention of a shrine or a road-side hut. “We can see Lord Cador back to Galleva from here. He and his men won’t cause any more trouble.”

  Cador looked sharply from Myrddin to Emrys. He looked as though he wanted to argue.

  Myrddin shook his head, his wild locks waving. “I think I might come with you.”

  Emrys gaped.

  Rhiannon was sure she was gawping like a fish, just as Emrys was.

  Cai rolled his eyes. “Finally. It only took fifteen years…” He shoved his sword away, resettled his cloak and marched past Cador with his long strides. “Come along!” he called over his shoulder.

  As he passed the rest of Cador’s men, who were spread along the road, they moved silently out of the way.

  Regretfully, Rhiannon moved up beside Emrys and followed the lord Cador and Myrddin along the road toward Galleva.

  There would be no oatcakes for breakfast, after all.

  Chapter Four

  Ector looked from one man to the other, as Merlin shut the door to his library and put the bar across it. The other man was the more astonishing sight of the two.

  “Good Christ above, Cador!” Ector breathed, coming forward with his hand held out toward him. “How is it you are here in Galleva, far from the center of all things? Uther is in Venta Belgarum, no?”

  “For now, but not for long,” Cador said. His gaze was on Merlin, though. “That was him, wasn’t it? Emrys? Emrys,” he muttered. “Ambrosius, in all but color. Christ, but he is Uther’s spitting image…”

  “Quietly,” Merlin said, his tone sharp. “The doors here are not thick and those three have sharp ears and sharper curiosities.” He stood with his long staff held in a position which Ector recognized from watching Steffan train Rhiannon. Merlin was ready to attack the Duke of Cornwall.

  “Merlin, for heaven’s sake, this is Cador!” Ector exclaimed, as sweat prickled under his arms and his heart slammed against his chest. “What do you think you’re doing, man?”

  Cador looked from Ector to Merlin, surprised. Then he took in the staff. “I recognize that hold… A man I knew once—my tutor—he used to hold his staff that way. I watched him lay twelve men flat with it, just as the girl did back in the forest…” Cador rolled his eyes as the truth behind his summation registered. “My god, she even looks like him. Steffan is here, too?” He kept his voice down as Merlin had requested, although the note in it was agonized.

  “Why are you here, Cador?” Merlin asked.

  “Why do you think?” Cador asked. His brows came together. He was still a handsome man, with a thick head of blond hair which he kept long and tied back neatly. Right now, though, he looked aged and drawn, as he considered Merlin. “You think I am your enemy…and his, too.”

  Merlin didn’t move from his ready stance. “Of anyone in this world, you have the greatest reason to resent him…and me.”

  Cador’s gaze flickered over the staff and Merlin’s posture. “You’ve learned a trick or two since we last met. You tried to best a soldier with a sword and learned your foolishness the hard way. How long did it take your hand to mend? Or is it still unusable?”

  Merlin didn’t move.

  Ector glanced at the scars which ran over the back of Merlin’s right hand. There were more scars on the palm. They had never seemed to hinder Merlin’s work.

  Cador nodded, as if Merlin had answered, even though he had not spoken. “I was resentful. For a long while I hated you for your role in my father’s death. Only, the times we are facing now, the endless Saxon incursions…you’ve been tucked away here—you cannot possibly understand until you are out there. Then you would see it as I do. If we do not stand together and work as one to defend Britain, there will be no Britain left.”

  Ector drew in a breath and let it out. “It is that bad?”

  “Worse,” Cador admitted, his gaze on Merlin. “Uther sent me to find you, Merlin, and you, Ector. The call has gone out. Total war, a command for any man who can bear arms to stand behind Uther. The Saxon war chief Aelle landed upon their northern shores a month ago. The Saxons have been gathering around him for weeks and are preparing to fight their way across Britain.” Cador paused. “Uther wanted you to know in particular. That is why he sent me. He wants every man able to bear arms.”

  Ector swallowed. “The boy, too?”

  “I think Emrys and Cai are beyond being called boys, anymore,” Merlin said. He put up his staff. He sounded amused.

  “It’s all very well for you, Merlin. I’ve had them underfoot for twenty years.” Ector sighed. “Well, we’ve known for ten years this day would come, eventually. I’m surprised it took this long. Grateful, too. We all needed the time.”

  “He didn’t say so to me, but I suspect that in the last few years, the King has been working only to give the boy as much time as possible.” Cador relaxed, now Merlin had put the staff away. “Now, he has run out of time.” He rubbed the back of his neck and looked at Merlin. “He really knows nothing about who he is? He truly believes he is here to serve Ector’s boy?”

  “We kept it from him because Uther was not prepared to acknowledge him,” Merlin said. “After Claudas, when we knew for sure Uther must declare him his heir one day, it seemed better to go on as we had,” Merlin said. “Humility is a good quality in a leader.”

  “I’m not sure how much longer we could have held the secret,” Ector added. “One only has to look at him, to guess who his father may have been. When you see him fighting, then you know for sure. He is only twenty, yet he has been leading my troops for two years. I could no more contain him than I could a wild winter storm. Perhaps this call comes at the very best time.” Ector sighed again.

  “It must be now,” Cador said with a slight emphasis.

  Merlin raised his brow. He didn’t say anything yet Cador answered.

  “Uther is sick. He looks sick. You would not recognize him now.” Cador gave a tiny lift of his shoulders. “I think the King is dying.”

  The silence which held them for a heartbeat or two was pensive. Ector stirred, and remembered his responsibilities as the host. “Cador, you and your men are welcome here. Are you hungry? Or I can have wine brought.”

  Cador shook his head. “You do not understand, I am not here to linger. I came to collect the boy. Uther wants him.”

  “We are to leave today? That is impossible, man! I cannot shut up my house for a summer campaign, assemble troops, supplies and arms before sunset.”

  Merlin lifted his hand. “Then we must do it as fast as we can. Haste is needed, Ector. I will help.”

  “You?” Cador said. “The sentries will toss you from the camp as soon as they lay eyes on you. I would not have known it was you, until you said my name.”

  Merlin’s smile was easy. “I shouldn’t worry about that,” he told Cador.

  Ector snorted. “You’re telling a wizard he cannot go where he wants? I did not think you were so foolish, Cador.”

  RHIANNON WAS MOMENTARILY SPEECHLESS, AS she looked from her mother to her father. “But I must go! Cai and Emrys are going. I can’t be left behind.”

  In fact, her heart had been beating with excitement since Cai and Emrys had told her about the High King’s cal
l for men and arms. The whole house was filled with bustle and sounds of industry, as preparations were made to travel to where the High King was gathering his army in preparation to face the Saxon hoards.

  “They are riding to war, Rhiannon,” her mother said, with a tone of voice which said no other argument was required.

  “Exactly!” Rhiannon looked at her father. “Why have you spent years training me, if not for this day? Cai and Emrys cannot fight without me there. They get confused if I am not. They stop thinking and start reacting and you know how bad it is if a fighter stops thinking in the middle of a battle.”

  Her father winced. “I can deny none of that,” he said. “Only, a battlefield is different from a skirmish in the forest.”

  “How is it different?” She demanded. “When that master swordsman was here, training Cai and Emrys, I did the same training. I worked just as hard and I was just as good.” As Anwen opened her mouth to speak, Rhiannon added, “Please do not remind me that I am just a woman, Mother. I am aware of that. Emrys taught me how to fight in a way which offsets the strength and weight disadvantages. Father, you have listened to what he taught me for yourself. Explain it to mother.”

  Steffen shifted his chin, as if he was looking at Anwen. The effect was the same as if he were not blind. “There is the Queen’s Cohort…” he said softly.

  Anwen shook her head. “I am aware of the Queen’s wing. They do not fight as Rhiannon has been taught. She is untrained in that regard.”

  “They fight from horseback and they use short swords and shields and bows. How is it different from anything I have been taught?”

  “To begin with,” Anwen said, “you have not been invited to join the Queen’s Cohort. No argument you can make stands without that invitation.”

  Rhiannon smiled. “How does one arrange an invitation to join the Cohort?”

  Her father smiled, too. “By presenting oneself to the leader of the Queen’s Cohort and asking to fight with them.”

  Her mother sighed and turned to Steffan. “You were only supposed to teach them languages and mathematics.”

  He touched her cheek to find it, then kissed her there. “That is a condition you should have corrected many years ago, my love. Now, it is far too late.”

  Her mother did not look as upset as Rhiannon thought she might.

  “Besides,” her father told Anwen, “Rhiannon has been tucked away in a forgotten land and overlooked by everyone for far too long.”

  Anwen’s face softened, her eyes grew warm. “She could never be invisible,” she said. “She has you as her father.”

  Steffan’s smile was just as warm. He turned to Rhiannon. “It is done then. You will ride with Cai and Emrys and we will come with you.”

  Rhiannon’s mouth opened. She stared at them, astonished. “You will come with me?”

  “When you were a babe in arms, we traveled the world,” Anwen said. “I have stood in the Forum of Rome and watched people from every corner of the civilized world gather there. I have seen Constantinople and the Sea of Marmara at dawn. We have trekked through Iberia and crossed the Strait to see the oceans of sand which make the country there.” Her tone was wistful. “We have been tucked away in the Forest Sauvage for far too long. It is time.”

  THEY DID NOT LEAVE THAT day, but the next. The frantic preparations were extraordinary and involved everyone in the house. Once her parents declared they were traveling with the company, too, Ector declared Drusilla must come with him, for he would leave no one behind.

  Accordingly, at dawn the next day, after working through most of the night, the entire household set out from Galleva. They were accompanied by Ector’s men in arms, numbering four hundred. The men in arms were farmers and local artisans, who looked to Ector for protection in hard times. Ector had trained the men in the ways of war. So had a wide range of traveling master swordsmen and fighters who had arrived in Galleva over the years. Later, Emrys himself had polished their training. They were not professional soldiers, yet they could hold their own.

  Among the armed men were carts carrying supplies for the company. One of the carts was a curiously designed vehicle which Steffan had directed the cartwright to make. It consisted of four wheels and a short platform upon which was mounted a wide and comfortable bench. The bench was cushioned, with a leather sheet overhead to shield the passengers from sun and rain.

  Steffan and Anwen traveled on this cart. They could choose to dismount when they wanted to walk for a while and in years gone by, Anwen had walked more than she had ridden. These days, though, she was content to sit beside Steffan. Sometimes, those traveling on foot would be invited to sit on the platform in front of

  the bench and talk with them.

  Rhiannon rode with Emrys and Cai, as she had since she was ten and her mother had stopped insisting Rhiannon could not ride a war stallion. As was proper, Emrys and Rhiannon rode on either side of Cai, protecting his flank.

  It was the first time Rhiannon had ever traveled a great distance while fully armed. By the days’ end she had an appreciation for soldiers who traveled for weeks, to arrive at the field of battle and be ready to fight. She was sore and tired at the end of the first day, and grumpy as a result.

  “Don’t break the blisters,” her father advised all three of them that night, at the campfire. “Wind a bandage over them so they are not chaffed any more or pad them and the item which caused them. Put grease on them tomorrow, before we start. And tighten your belts and closures, so they don’t rub.”

  Accordingly, the next day, Rhiannon tightened her sword belt so there was no give at all, made sure her boots were firmly laced and the belt which carried her bow over her back was cinched in around her chest. She laced her gauntlets even more tightly than usual.

  It felt constrictive at first, yet within a few miles, she had grown used to it. By the end of the day, she had none of the friction burns and blisters she had acquired on the first day.

  The King had called for men to present themselves at a location which was only three miles from the current eastern border of the Saxon Shore. According to Cador, it was only five miles from where Aelle was gathering his own forces.

  “There is a shallow valley along the Vedra river, right on the border,” Cador explained that night around the fire. “The land is cleared for three miles across at that point and nowhere else. The armies will meet there.”

  “And the name of this place?” Myrddin asked, his tone semi-curious.

  Myrddin had been the largest surprise among a day of rapid shocks and revelations. He had appeared in the courtyard at dawn, as the company was preparing to set out from Galleva. At first, Rhiannon wondered if the lord was traveling with Cador, for she didn’t recognize him.

  The patched and stained robe was gone. So were the scuffed and rundown boots. Myrddin had shorn his hair and swept back the thumb-length locks which remained. He had shaved his beard, leaving only a thin line at his chin and around his mouth. He looked twenty years younger than Rhiannon ever would have guessed him to be and when he smiled, she took away another ten years. Why…he might even be their age! Only, there were wrinkles at the corners of his eyes which said he was older than that and the fine sprinkling of silver in his hair remained.

  He was not the fragile old man she had thought him to be, though. He wore a fine robe in a thick, good quality fabric, with delicate embroidery on the hem and the neck. His trousers were of similar quality, with no holes or stains. The belt girdling his waist was a good one with a silver buckle. His boots were leather, with good strong soles.

  The dark cloak he furled around his shoulders had gold embroidery around the edges. It was pinned to his shoulder with a fine brooch of dull gold, with a red figure carved on the top of the black stone in the center.

  Cador had come out of the house just as Myrddin arrived in the courtyard. Cador skidded to a halt on the verandah and glanced sharply at him. Then he did something which made Rhiannon catch her breath.

  He bowed his hea
d.

  Myrddin shook his head in a tiny, sharp movement.

  Cador straightened and glanced around for observers. His smile was rueful as he stepped off the verandah and moved over to where his men were holding his stallion ready for him to mount.

  Rhiannon was the only person to see the little interchange. Everyone marveled at Myrddin’s appearance, although no one wondered about why he had changed so drastically.

  Myrddin sat at the same campfire as the lords in the entourage—Ector, Cador and his senior officers, her mother and father, Cai and Emrys. He did not seem to be out of place, either.

  Now he was asking about the location of the battle to come, with the tone of a man picking apart war strategy—which was something her father did constantly.

  “Coria,” Cador said.

  Myrddin glanced at her father. “Do you know it?”

  “Ambrosius fought Octa there,” Steffan said.

  “I was not there for that one,” Myrddin admitted.

  Rhiannon felt her lips part in surprise. “What battles did you attend?” she asked, more sharply than she intended.

  Myrddin straightened. “I have spoken to men who fought in many battles,” he said dismissively. “Cador, who is war duke now Cadfael is gone?”

  “Tristan the Elder,” Cador replied.

  “The King of Kernow. A good choice,” Ector said complacently. “Men follow him easily.”

  The subject was turned as neatly as that.

  Rhiannon did not try to claw the conversation back. She knew she was tolerated around the campfire only because her mother and father sat there, too. Both she and Emrys should rightly be relegated to other fires, but for them.

  The next morning, when the company started out on another long day’s journey, Rhiannon spoke to Cai and Emrys about Myrddin. She added in the moment she had seen between Cador and Myrddin. “Do you think that perhaps Myrddin was once a part of the High King’s court?”

  “Ambrosius’s court, do you mean?” Emrys asked, considering. He scratched at his chin. As was the fashion with most men, Emrys had let his beard grow, but trimmed it neatly every morning with his knife. His beard was the same burnished dark copper as his hair, which had the effect of making his eyes seem very blue—a color which was found nowhere in nature, except in his eyes. “It seems unlikely. No High King would discard a man of Myrddin’s knowledge and experience and let him live in a glade in a northern forest. It would be a waste.”