Finally, Claire turned and stumbled away.
Rawn let out his own ragged breath. “Gods!” He put his head on his bent knee.
Mair shivered. “Why do women insist upon doing this to themselves?”
“What do you mean, ‘this’?” Rawn asked, sitting up once more. His tone was sharp.
“This. Love. Men. It just trips women up.”
“Don’t you love Alun?” Rawn asked, puzzled.
Mair’s middle froze, bringing her to stillness. Her heart beat in her head and her throat, making them ache.
“Mair?”
She got to her feet. “Good night, Rawn.”
“Mair?”
She hurried away, her heart slamming in her chest and echoing in her ears.
THE CAMP WAS SILENT. ACROSS the plain, all that could be seen was the deep orange glow of dying embers. All that could be heard was the soft snoring of sleeping men, and the chomping of horses pulling at the grasses beneath their rope lines.
It was the stillness and silence before the heralds of dawn rose. The night air was as cold as it would grow, while mist formed and rolled over the ground.
In the white command tent, Merlin lifted his head and cocked it, the book he was reading dropping to his knees.
“Listen,” he said.
Arthur paused in his pacing and pulled the long robe in around him, noticing for the first time how cool the tent had become. He listened. “A horse. Coming fast.”
“A mile or more, yet,” Merlin judged. He let the book roll up.
Arthur raised his brow. “Something you have been expecting?” he asked, his tone teasing.
“No, but the direction the horse comes from is worrying.”
“North,” Arthur said grimly. He scratched at his red beard. “It might be a patrol. Delayed, or went farther abroad, to be sure.”
Merlin was still listening carefully. He shook his head, his eyes narrowed. “The horse is tired. The gait is off-kilter. He’s ridden far.”
The heavy clod of hooves was easy to pick out in the still night, now. Arthur heard others stirring around the outside of the tent. In these dangerous times, the approach of an unlooked-for horseman often meant trouble.
Arthur reached for his sword, hanging over the back of the high chair.
“You won’t need that,” Merlin said.
“You know that?”
Merlin’s smile was a flash of brightness in his usually somber face. “Apparently, I do.”
It wasn’t often that Merlin hinted about the limits of his power, and only when he was alone with Arthur.
Arthur let the sword remain where it was.
They listened as the horse came flying into the camp, barely slowing to negotiate the avenues. It came straight toward the command tent, to come to a halt which made the horse whinny in protest.
“Messenger,” Arthur breathed. No warrior would ride his horse into the ground in that way.
Cai pulled the tent flap aside and looked in. His hair was tousled. He wore only a tunic and hastily donned boots. “Oh good, you’re still awake.”
As Cai spent most of his time urging Arthur to sleep more, Arthur could only grimace in response.
“I’ll see what it’s about,” Cai added and dropped the tent flap.
Running boots thudded to where the horse bellowed.
“I must speak to Arthur!” came the cry. The man sounded young. And exhausted.
“He’s waiting. Come around, lad,” Cai said. “Come on. Lester, get some water for the horse. Oats, too.”
“Arthur is waiting?” The boy sounded terrified now. “He knew I was coming?”
“Merlin likely did,” Cai said, his tone off-hand. “Hurry up!”
Merlin rolled his eyes.
Arthur laughed softly and went over to the high table where the warm wine sat. He poured a cupful.
Cai led the frightened messenger into the tent. The man—and he was barely that—came to an astonished halt when he saw the two. He swallowed, his eyes widening. He was splattered in dark mud and his eyes were red-rimmed.
“Here,” Arthur said, thrusting the wine into his hands. “Drink and steady yourself, then give me your message. Druson, isn’t it?”
“Yes, my lord,” Druson said. He gulped hurriedly.
“One of Idris’,” Merlin said softly.
“Yes, Prince Merlin.” Druson lifted a corner of his cloak and wiped his temple. He took another deep swallow from the wine. “I was assigned to Rheged, to act as messenger as needed and generally just…watch.”
“Spy,” Merlin said softly.
Druson’s face tinged with pink. “If you say so, my lord.”
“Go on,” Arthur said. “Something happened in Rheged?”
Druson nodded and blew out his breath. “The Queen was right on my heels, my lord. I thought I’d outrun them, only she’s killed four horses already and I thought…well it’s only right you hear about it before she gets here.”
“Hear what?” Merlin asked, with false patience.
“King Urien is dead, my lord. He was murdered in his own bed, with his own sword and they’re saying the Queen did it. She ran before they could lynch her, only I was on horseback and she has that great cart of hers….”
“Morgan,” Merlin said, with a vexed tone. “And she’s on her way here.”
Arthur sighed.
Chapter Five
…it is safe. It is here. You have but to reach for it and it is yours…
Nimue sat up, awake and aware. Her heart thundered. Her chest ached with it. Her skin was chilled by sweat.
The whispered words sighed and faded in her mind.
Nimue drew in a shuddering breath, blinking to bring her normal vision back and disperse the vision.
Vivian sat on the end of the pallet. She had pulled her long, loose black hair over one shoulder, to watch Nimue.
“Vivian…!” Nimue let out another shaky breath. “Did you see it? How much did you hear?”
Vivian reached beyond the end of the bed and picked up a cup. She held it out to Nimue. “Here. The wine and herbs. I warmed them just now. Go on. You know they help.”
Nimue took the cup with shaking hands and sipped. Beyond the walls of the tent, she heard the first warbles of dawn. A new day had arrived for Arthur and his army.
What would this day bring? It was a question Nimue had asked herself for many years now, for her Sight had abandoned her. On this day, though, she did not need to ask the question.
Nimue shuddered. Just the warmth of the wine was restorative. The herb compounds seeping into the rich red liquid helped dispel the last of the vision, to bring her back to calm. They had helped Vivian for many years.
While she drank, Nimue absorbed the more telling details—that Vivian was fully dressed and calm. Her eyes did not have the wild, wide look she usually wore just after a vision had visited her.
Nimue put the cup aside when it was nearly empty, her heart calmer. “How did you know I would need this?”
“You were speaking in a tongue not yours. I did not understand it.” Vivian shrugged.
Nimue drew in a calming breath.
“What did you see?” Vivian asked her, her tone curious.
“A woman. A Briton. A princess, I think. She told me her name was Helen. She said she had a great gift she had been guarding for an age and now it was time to reach out and take it…” Nimue swallowed. She picked up the cup and drained the dregs. The words the woman in her dream had spoken were there in her mind. She could recall them easily, for this had been no ordinary dream. Moving her mouth carefully, she spoke them as she had heard them. “It is safe. It is here. You have but to reach for it and it is yours.”
Vivian nodded. “Yes, that was the speech I heard. The structure…it is very old.”
“And forgotten, I think,” Nimue said. She lifted herself up higher. Everything ached. She had forgotten what it was like, the pain which came afterward.
Vivian moved to help her. When Nimue w
as settled once more, Vivian sat upon the blanket beside her. “Helen…” She smiled her lovely smile and picked up Nimue’s hand. “Macsen Wleddig married Elen of Cair Segeint.”
Nimue drew in a breath and let it out. “Segontium.” She gripped Vivian’s hand. “The sword of Macsen Wleddig…is it possible it has been here in Britain all along? Not left to rust in a gutter in Rome?”
Vivian pushed Nimue’s hair back over her shoulder, away from her face. “If it is here, it is for you to find.”
“Then you truly saw nothing?”
Vivian shook her head.
Nimue had to breathe again. When she was calm once more, she said, “This is the first thing I have seen since Lancelot came to us. And you did not.”
“Which is as it should be. This is your quest, Nimue. It is for you to find the symbol Arthur needs. It is fitting that it be you.”
Nimue understood then that Vivian was aware of the truth which grew inside her, just as Nimue had come to see it.
AFTER THE EXECUTION OF HENGIST and before the first cooking fires were lit that morning, word passed about the messenger from the north who had arrived in the dead of the night.
Idris scraped up the gossip as he moved through the camp to the command tent, assessing it. When he reached the tent and stepped inside, he learned the gossips were, for once, accurate about something.
Druson sat on the chest Lancelot usually used, eating stew like a man who had not eaten for a week. Mud splattered him to his brows.
Arthur stood beside the big chair, his elbow on the back of it, his bearded chin on his fist as he reflected upon something.
Idris had never seen Arthur sit in the chair. He would rest his cup on the seat. He would lean against it. He hooked his sword over the back of it and, occasionally, his cloak. Yet he never once had sat upon the thing himself, even though the great chair traveled everywhere with him.
“You look tired, Idris,” Arthur said. “Too much wine last night?”
“Rhiannon’s pains started early this morning,” Idris said.
Arthur looked pleased. His eyes danced. “Then I will not keep you. You know Druson?”
“I do,” Idris said. “I thought I had left him in Rheged.”
Druson nodded and tried to clear his mouth to speak.
Arthur waved the boy to silence. “He was. He arrived here this morning, only hours in front of Morgan, he assures us.”
Idris frowned. “She travels south to you against your express orders? What would bring her to it?”
“Urien is dead,” Arthur said, his tone flat.
“Dead.” Idris repeated it, stunned.
“Murdered in his bed with his own blade. All of Rheged thinks Morgan did it.” Arthur grimaced.
Idris pushed his hand through his hair. “That’s a pretty kettle of fish…” he breathed.
“And not a spoon in sight,” Arthur finished, his tone dry.
Idris blew out his breath. “Urien,” he repeated, trying to encompass the enormity and the consequences of the news. “Lot will be beside himself. Urien is his cousin and co-conspirator. Urien’s son is only ten or so—”
“And likely in the cart with Morgan,” Arthur added. “I must rein in Lot, and stop him storming south to find Morgan, or scouring the north in retribution. What will contain him, Idris? You know the man better than I.”
Idris considered the thorny problem. “More men in the north, possibly, although Lot’s temper runs as hot as Urien’s does. Did. I suppose you could take the last son as hostage against his good behavior, yet the lad is only four, so that may work against you…” He frowned. “My lord…?”
Arthur’s face had turned white, making the red of his beard and hair all the more vivid. “Lot has a fifth son?” His voice was bodiless.
“Mordred, I think he’s named,” Idris said.
“Born in the winter,” Arthur added.
“Possibly. I can’t say for sure. I’ve never paid the boy any attention. He clings to Morgause as if he already recognizes the foulness of his father.” Idris shrugged. “Another redhead with all his mother’s looks. Lot would tally that an insult, too. I pity him his raising…” Idris frowned again. “My lord. Arthur. Are you well?”
Arthur shook his head. “No. I don’t think I am.”
“I will get Merlin,” Idris said, turning.
“Druson, you must go, too,” Arthur told the boy on the chest, as Idris hurried out in search of Merlin.
Idris didn’t know what was wrong with Arthur, but as Merlin was reckoned a doctor, a wizard and the very last druid in Britain, the man must surely have some power to remove the blank look in Arthur’s eyes.
ARTHUR WAS STILL PACING WHEN Merlin finally arrived.
“Where have you been?” Arthur demanded. “I sent for you far too long ago!”
“Idris found me, long ago,” Merlin replied calmly. His black eyes were steady. “I was in the surgery tent, up to my shoulders in blood. I stopped to wash and change once I had saved the man’s leg.”
Arthur whirled and paced some more.
“Your father used to do that. Walk the floor, as you are doing,” Merlin said.
Arthur threw out his hands. “Tell me, were you aware, in your way, about Morguase’s bastard?”
Caution settled over Merlin like a pall. All expression vanished from his eyes. “A child?” he said, his tone remote.
“A boy. Four years old and as unlike Lot as any of the other four.” Arthur gripped his hands into hard fists. “Tell me you did not know it would come to this, Merlin.”
Merlin moved over to the big chair and gripped the arm and leaned on it, as if he was very tired. Slowly, he lowered himself onto the seat.
Arthur bit back his protest. Merlin was entitled to sit on the chair—more than Arthur was.
Merlin blew out his breath. “I could see from the shadows and the stars that the business with Morguase was not yet done, only I did not see the shape of it.” He looked at Arthur. “It never occurred to me a child might come out of it.”
“You did not think of it?” Arthur breathed, astonishment warring with disbelief.
“I am not a father,” Merlin said.
“You mean, your Sight failed you and your experience as a man did, too?” Arthur demanded.
“Yes.”
“How could you be so blind about this, of all things?” Arthur cried, his heart working far too hard.
“Perhaps the gods who guide me wanted me blind.”
“You said everything you have done until now was to help me,” Arthur shot back. “Did you lie?”
“No,” Merlin said. He pushed himself to his feet. “I have never lied to you, Emrys.”
The use of his milk name brought a measure of calm to Arthur. He drew in a breath and let it out. He made his hands unclench. “My bastard, upon my half-sister. There will be a price to pay for this, Merlin.”
Merlin spread his hands, a gesture Arthur had seen him use when his vision saw far beyond the range of mere men. “Perhaps so, but that payment is not due now. You have much to do before your reckoning, Arthur.”
They were bleak words, yet oddly comforting. “Every man faces his reckoning, in the end,” Arthur pointed out. “And I am just a man. So be it.” He scowled. “Morguase, though—”
“No,” Merlin said quickly. “Leave the woman be, Arthur.”
“She knew who I was when she…we…” Arthur couldn’t speak the words. “She knew,” he finished inadequately. “I should let her hold the child over me? Why else would she do what she did other than to snare me in some woman’s scheme?”
“Oh, I am sure it is exactly why she did it,” Merlin said. “However, if you do anything other than ignore her, then you will be doing what she wants.”
“And let the child live?” Arthur breathed, horror spreading through him. He could feel the heat creeping up his neck.
Merlin crossed his arms, the long sleeves of his robe folding over his hands. His eyes were obsidian black and deep as
the bowels of hell. “You would compound the original sin with murder?”
Arthur swallowed. “If I do not, she will use the child against me. It is Morguase we speak of, remember.”
“The child is an innocent,” Merlin replied.
“He won’t remain innocent for long. Not under her care.”
“Gawain, Gaheris and Gareth are all fine men, and all raised by her. No, Arthur, you must let this lie. Any action you take will only bring a swifter and more terrible justice upon you.”
“You have seen this?” Arthur asked.
Merlin shook his head. “I speak purely as a man of conscience. You cannot begin your reign awash in the blood of innocents.”
“My reign?” Arthur said sharply. “Then you have seen something.”
Merlin hesitated. “Only the visions I have lived with since I was a child, which led me to do everything I have done to make you High King of Britain. Your time will come, Arthur. Trust me.” He lowered his arms and turned to the door.
“Where are you going?” Arthur demanded.
“Right now? To my tent.”
“Morgan will be here at any time,” Arthur pointed out.
“You’re quite safe,” Merlin said, with a smile. “Morgan wants something from you. She will be pleasant and sweet until she gets it.”
“What does she want?”
“Shelter, for now. An entire kingdom wants her blood.”
“Oh, that,” Arthur said dismissively. He had already anticipated Morgan would throw herself on his mercy.
“Not everything is written in the stars. Most of life is as prosaic as this,” Merlin said. “I will see you in Venta Belgarum, Arthur.”
“Then you are going somewhere!”
Merlin turned back once more. “Yes,” he said. “I am.”
“You said you would not leave again. That you would always be here.”
Merlin considered him. “Actually, I said I would be right where you need me. On this matter, your needs dictate I must be far from here.”
Arthur considered him. “No wonder my father constantly railed at you. You are being deliberately obscure.”
“I am telling you as much as I know for certain,” Merlin said. “You must trust me in this.”
High King of Britain Page 6