The woman directly behind him was of a rare, exquisite beauty about which the bards liked to spin songs and poems. Her skin was as white as marble and her eyes the same blue as the sky at the edge of the horizon, just before the sun lifted above it. Her cheeks were tinged with the same color as her full lips. She had a slender figure, which a protective leather jerkin and trews did nothing to hide. Her hair flowed like a river down her back, the pure, pale wheat color shining in the sun.
“Is she…Saxon?” Rawn murmured, his voice strained.
Mair brought her lips together. “Yes,” she breathed back, her heart thrumming. She itched to leap across the space between her and the woman’s horse, and deal with her. Her and her kind were forcing Arthur to yet another battle this year.
The woman passed and Mair’s gaze shifted to those who followed her.
A girl…just barely a woman. She had strawberry blonde hair and eyes identical to the woman ahead of her. Another girl, younger than the first. Her hair was darker, and also matted with blood. Running over her left eye were two parallel slashes. They were recent wounds, for fresh blood stained her cheek beneath them.
Mair’s heart squeezed. Who would attack a young girl like that? It was vicious.
Her gaze skipped to the next two children, both girls, riding together. They were twins, identical except for their hair, for one was blonde like her mother, the other dark like the injured girl before them.
At the tail, behind the women, rode a dark-haired young boy with his father’s looks, and fear in his eyes. A wagon with an old man driving it, and a single pair of armed guards were the end of the procession.
“Why, this is Caradoc’s family!” Mair whispered.
“They’ve had trouble, by the look of it,” Rawn said.
Caradoc lowered himself wearily from his horse, moved around it and stood before Arthur. He wore no helmet to remove. Instead, he bowed his head. “I and mine have escaped Brynaich with only what we could carry, Arthur. I seek refuge with your army and in return, my family and I will do everything we can to help you take back the north.”
“Take it back?” Arthur asked, his tone polite. Yet even from her position on the cart, Mair could see the iron in his gaze. The War Duke was assessing, making instant judgments, weighing strategies.
“Lot, damn his eyes,” Idris muttered.
Caradoc glanced at Idris, startled. He wiped his brow with his sleeve. “Perhaps Lot is behind it. I wouldn’t consider anything being beyond his ambitions, these days.” He dropped his arm. “Only, it was Saxons who drove us out of Brynaich. They’re sweeping across the north, Arthur. There are thousands of them and they’re determined to wipe out every last Briton, even those they once counted allies.”
The woman stepped around her horse and stood by her husband’s side. Perhaps she sensed everyone’s attention swiveling to her at her husband’s words, for she straightened, her chin lifted and her shoulders squared. “It is the work of the man I called cousin, once,” she said, speaking directly to Arthur. “For twenty-three years, he has abided by the treaty forged when I was married to Caradoc. I do not know what madness struck him, to disavow the alliance after so many years, but I repudiate him for the act. I was born Saxon, but I am Saxon no longer. I stand with Britain, for good or ill. I beg you, for the sake of my children, Arthur, that you route the invaders from our homes and win back the north for us.”
Chapter Seventeen
Idris, you knew nothing about this?” Merlin breathed as Arthur’s companions assembled in the command tent. Outside, the sound of people muttering to each other in wild speculation continued. They were not going back to their campfires as Cai had ordered and Idris didn’t blame them.
Uncertainty gripped everyone by the throat.
Idris shook his head at Merlin’s quick question. “The few times we visited Brynaich, Caradoc kept his family behind closed doors. I thought he didn’t want them breaking bread with a slave.” He grimaced. “Former slave,” he added, as Merlin tried to correct him.
“Now we know why he hid them.” Merlin sighed. “‘tis little wonder Lot felt free to drive south and challenge Arthur, time and again. The man knew Caradoc would keep the northern bulwarks whole with his treaty.”
“Until now,” Idris added. “Do you think it a coincidence that Saxons in the north and the south would surge at same time?”
“Do you?” Merlin asked.
Idris shook his head.
“Then we agree on that, too.”
Arthur rapped his knuckles on the arm of the high chair, to draw their attention. “Caradoc, explain more, now the world is no longer listening. What happened?”
“My family…” Caradoc said, twisting to look over his shoulder toward the exit.
“Will be fed and given beds,” Cai growled.
Caradoc looked around the tent, perhaps realizing only now that the companions stood in a tight circle around him. He faced Arthur, standing beside the high chair. “I think Lot may have gone completely mad. Urien’s death struck him hard. The two were cousins, although they were closer than that. There are rumors they were closer than husband and wife, but only rumors. I paid no attention because their friendship helped guard my borders to the west and the north.”
“While your treaty with your wife’s cousin—” Arthur began.
“Cuthberht,” Caradoc supplied.
“While your treaty with Cuthberht held the eastern shores,” Arthur finished. “Tell me, Caradoc, would you have ever revealed this treaty to me and the British leaders, if Cuthberht or Lot…or whoever is at the root of this business had not forced your hand?”
Caradoc considered. “No,” he said flatly. “Why would I? I well know how Ula would be treated here, among the old tribes.” He raised his chin. “It might surprise you to know that I love my wife. There are good people among the Saxons. They are not all immoral barbarians, and Ula’s family counts among those people. So did Cuthberht. I cannot fathom his actions now. They make no sense.”
“And it might surprise you,” Arthur replied, “to know that one of the greatest of our women warriors, the leader of the Queen’s Cohort for many years, was the Saxon daughter of Vortigern, who was everyone’s enemy. Maela was a great lady, and is still missed, even today. Her daughter leads one wing of the Queen’s Cohort now. We are not indiscriminate in our hatred of Saxons, Caradoc. Though we do loathe with a passion any enemy who would take our lands from us. If you had not hidden yourself away in your eyrie, you would know that.”
Caradoc’s jaw worked. Then he nodded. “Aye, I didn’t know that. It makes a difference.”
“We received a letter from Lot, accusing your wife of murdering Urien,” Cai said. “He also accused Saxons in the same breath, which we did not fully understand until now. Lot clearly believes your wife made arrangements with her family to have Urien’s throat cut.”
Caradoc threw out his hand. “You heard Ula. She disavows any relationship to Cuthberht.”
Arthur nodded. “And Lot may have made the accusation to misdirect everyone.”
“It would mean Lot is in league with the Saxons,” Cai cried, his tone one of protest, as if he couldn’t abide the notion.
“Lot is capable of such a thing,” Idris said. “He hasn’t stirred himself to arrange it because there was not enough benefit in it. Perhaps now he thinks it is worth the trouble.” He shrugged. “With Urien gone, all he would have to do is remove Caradoc and he could claim the north for himself. The Selgovae in the far reaches have never cared for British politics and would let him do what he wanted as long as he didn’t stray onto their territory.”
“Do not forget the kingdom to the west of Lothian,” Merlin said, his voice quiet. “Strathclyde has been without a king for a generation and is ripe for picking.”
Arthur turned his chin. “Gaheris. Gawain. Could your father be that ambitious?”
Gaheris looked troubled.
Gawain grimaced. “‘tis as Idris says. If he thought the effort worth th
e prize, the bastard would stop at nothing. Apparently, he has stopped at naught. After Vortigern, you’d think every British king would know the dangers of using Saxons as mercenaries.”
“Except, as we’ve agreed, the prize is worth it in Lot’s eyes,” Merlin said softly.
Arthur shook his head. “We could speculate all day, but with Saxons pouring from both north and south, we don’t have time.”
Merlin turned to Arthur. “What is it you intend to do, then?”
Arthur gripped the arm of the chair, his fingers digging into the polished oak. “If Lot won’t obey the War Duke of Britain, then I will become High King and stand with Britain at my back and make him and every Saxon who dares step over the boundaries of my kingdom come to heel.” His fingers flexed. “This nonsense stops now. Merlin, you have three—no, two-and-a-half days.”
Merlin bowed and left the tent, moving fast.
“Two and half days, my lord?” Cai asked, puzzled.
“To arrange the coronation for the solstice,” Arthur said. He let the chair go. “While all of us here have our own business to arrange.” He paused. “A battle to the south, a beating to the north. Who is with me?”
The shouted affirmative pealed like thunder.
MAIR STOOD IN THE DARK, shivering, and marveled she was standing here at all. In the two days since Caradoc had arrived from the north with his family and news of the Saxons swarming over northern Britain, everything had changed.
All around her stood the ancient, giant dancing stones, which Merlin had raised once more in honor of his father, Ambrosius, who had been High King before Uther. Because it was not yet dawn, the stone circle was a ghostly shape in the dark of the night.
Inside the circle stood over one hundred people. There were even more outside the outer ring, gathered on the plain beyond to witness the crowning of Arthur. There were many more people here than usually camped around the white command tent at Venta Belgarum. By some miracle, Merlin had sent secret word to the four corners of Britain and in the last two days, those who could reach the great plains and the giant standing stones had arrived in small parties.
They were not only here for the crowning. Tomorrow, once the crowning and the feast were done, everyone able to bear arms would ride with Arthur to meet the gathering Saxons…or would ride north to deal with the Saxons there, and perhaps Lot, too.
The sick and wounded, those who could stand and hold a weapon, had been roused, too.
In the steadily brightening light of the dawn, Mair could see Queen Lowri’s dark head and pale face, on the other side of the circle. She was a tall woman, and stood behind her husband, King Bevan, even though two days ago, she had still laid on a pallet in the surgery.
Mair knew Lowri should not be standing. She could not possibly go to war, yet she was. Men and women like Lowri, who should be left to recover their health, would also be thrust upon one of the two battlefields in the coming days. “For our need is dire,” Cai told everyone, as he moved from tribe to clan to kingdom, to press upon their leaders the need for every able-bodied fighter to ride with Arthur.
When Mair learned Lowri would join the Cohort for the battle, she had hurried to the Calleva tent to argue the matter. “You can barely stand! How can you wield a sword with any strength?” she pointed out.
“I will have to manage.” Lowri winced as she resettled herself carefully upon the long bench before the fire pit. “We must all manage, even the least able of us.” Her gaze flickered toward the other benches.
Only one other person sat upon the benches, for everyone was preparing to leave for Amesbury, and then for war.
Mair turned to look at the girl, who got to her feet. Her dark blonde hair was tied back in a neat plait.
“I am Brigid,” she said quietly.
“I know who you are,” Mair said. She had been riding behind Caradoc and his Saxon wife. Her name was a fine British one—the name of one of the greatest goddesses of old.
“Brigid is joining the Cohort,” Lowri added. “We were just going through the basic patterns.”
Mair hid her dismay and made herself smile at Brigid. “Would you mind returning in an hour? I wish to speak to Lowri alone.”
Brigid raised a brow. Her gaze flickered to Lowri and back to Mair. “I see,” she said. Her tone said she did understand. She got to her feet and nodded at Lowri, then moved through the portal between the tents.
Mair spun to face Lowri. “You cannot let her fight with us!”
Lowri frowned. “Why not?”
“You know who her mother is, do you not?”
“I am aware of the gossip,” Lowri said dryly.
“Caradoc’s true loyalties have not been tested. He could be working with the Saxons…his wife might be, and who knows what the woman taught her children. Brigid…” Mair grimaced.
Lowri linked her hands together. “Sit, Mair. Sit, so I do not have to crane my head to look at you.”
Mair obeyed, her heart squeezing.
Lowri nodded. “That is better. You are a constant surprise, Mair. Did leading the wing give you this interest in politics?”
Coldness touched Mair’s middle. “Leading fighters has nothing to do with politics.”
“Leadership is all politics,” Lowri replied. “War is nothing but the violent execution of political policy. Did no one teach you this?”
Mair turned her heel into the earth, watching the soil gouge into a crescent. “I was taught how to fight,” she muttered. “That is all.”
“Yet you are making a political decision, right now.”
Mair looked at Lowri, horrified.
“You want to exclude a fighter because of politics.”
“She is the daughter of the enemy,” Mair pointed out.
“She is the older sister of a girl who had her face torn open by Saxons,” Lowri added. “Do you not think it might motivate her?”
Mair hesitated, recalling the blood she had seen on the younger girl’s face.
“Besides, Cai wants anyone who can wield a sword. Brigid was trained by her mother. Saxon women fight beside their men in battle with as much fierceness and skill as any man.”
Mair gripped her hands together. “I am not suggesting you refuse her because her mother is Saxon, but because we are still not certain Caradoc is truly loyal to Arthur.”
“It is a risk, to be sure,” Lowri replied. “And see, we are back to politics and power. It is not so easy to avoid, is it?” Her smile was gentle. “Must I remind you once more, Mair, that the Queen’s Cohort was founded by the daughter of a Saxon queen?”
Mair let out her breath. “No,” she said, her voice low.
“On the field of battle, when the enemy bears down upon us, a fighter’s true loyalties are demonstrated by the direction in which he swings his sword.”
“You want her to fight, to test her,” Mair breathed.
Lowri’s smile was warm. “You see it. Very good.”
Mair gripped the edge of the bench, her heart racing. “It is so layered. Meaning behind intent, behind more meaning. You’re using war itself as…as a tool.”
“War has always been a tool. A blunt one. I am adding a small edge to one corner, that is all.” Lowri smiled. “Much as you have added edges to everything we carry into the battle. Now, explain to me these new patterns Elaine was telling me about, please.”
They fell to discussing the variations on Lancelot’s way of fighting which Mair had taught the Cohort. Mair drew in the dirt with a stick, or demonstrated with an invisible sword, until Brigid returned. Mair was more easily able to smile at the woman and welcome her to the Cohort, after that.
That had been the same afternoon Caradoc had arrived.
As the night gathered and the camp settled for sleep, Mair grew restless and inclined to snap at the men. Tension banded around her chest, squeezing her lungs, and making her heart work too hard.
She sat at the fire for too long, waiting. When the fire was nothing but deep red coals, Mair reluctantly r
eturned to her tent and the empty bed.
That was where Rawn found her. He slid into the darkened tent, a silent shadow, as Mair sat up, her heart beats blending together into one hard, high note.
Rawn settled on the edge of the bed, facing her.
“I thought you might arrive sooner,” Mair said.
“I won’t intrude on your days,” he said softly. “They are for you to do your work.”
The nights, though, were his. She didn’t speak the thought aloud. She didn’t think she could speak at all.
That night had been filled with unforgettable pleasure. Mair’s extremities had tingled every time she recalled moments in Rawn’s arms, the next day, and her heart would patter. Often, she found herself at a complete halt, her hands paused in whatever task they had been completing, while the images played out in her head and her heart thrummed and her breath caught.
It was as well Rawn demanded only the nights. If he had been standing before her while she recalled those moments, she would be completely unable to do the task at hand.
Yet he was not there. The tension of the coming battles and the critical preparations for them would wrest her attention back to her work.
The day after that had been one of frantic preparations to leave Venta Belgarum. As Eurig was still missing, Mair directed the Corneus units in their preparations, to save Lucan from having to leave the tight conclave of senior officers devising strategies and drawing up battle plans in the circle in front of Arthur’s command tent.
On the second day—yesterday—everyone able to mount a horse had ridden to Amesbury in one of the largest hosts Mair could remember gathered behind the Pendragon banner. It was a day of easy riding. Despite the grim reason for such large numbers, or perhaps because of it, spirits were light among the riders. There was much joking and laughter.
While the town of Amesbury rang with the sounds of preparations for the feast which would follow the crowning, Arthur’s host prepared for the coronation itself.
Mair slept apart from the Corneus men. No one raised tents that night, although she arranged it so no man laid his bed roll on her side of the big fire. While she tried to sleep, hope and wondering kept her alert.
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