His hand fell away from her face. He sagged.
Morgan shifted the knife, aiming for the cavity under the ribs and the vulnerable organs there. One more cut and she was done. She withdrew the knife.
Accolon folded onto the floor. She stepped out of the way of the blood, and looked up at Idris, standing in the door, staring at her and at Accolon. Idris’ black eyes met hers.
“He killed Urien,” Morgan said. “He said he did it for me.”
Idris nodded. “I heard.” He turned and shepherded the others back, out of sight of the body at her feet.
Morgan looked down at Accolon. “Poor, blighted fool,” she whispered.
Chapter Twenty
Once Mair had Rhiannon settled in the little house where Morgan could see to her, and Idris had rounded up men to find blankets to carry away Accolon’s body so no one in the square noticed, Mair returned to the feast.
She had no interest in eating. Her throat was parched. It was a warm day, bright and still, and would only grow warmer, for the sun was just reaching its highest.
Mair caught the scent of warm wine and herbs and made her way through the tables in search of the kettle which held it. She begged a cupful from the woman stirring the ruby red liquid, then turned to see where she might drink it.
There were no tables where she might be left alone with her thoughts as she longed to be. She would not sit upon the barrels Merlin had found, either.
It was as she stood, dithering, that Bedivere came up to her. The man trailing behind him was Hywel, the Corneus warden.
Bedivere drew Mair away from the nearest tables and indicated Hywel. “This is a snarl of which I have no time to unravel. You know about Accolon?”
Mair nodded.
“The senior officers are to reassess battle strategies for tomorrow, in light of that,” Bedivere added.
“To consider what Accolon may have known and perhaps passed on to others?” Mair asked.
Bedivere’s brow rose. He smiled. “Yes, exactly,” he said. Then he rolled his eyes. “And Lancelot is pressing to have his precious chariots used, when they have not yet been tested—”
“You might consider them with an open mind, brother. The chariots are an unexpected thing. The Saxons will not know what to do with them. That alone will sow anxiety amongst them.”
Bedivere paused. “I will bear that in mind,” he said, his voice quiet. Then he waved toward Hywel. “This is a domestic Corneus matter and normally, Hywel would dispense the justice. He is caught in the middle of this so justice must come from a higher authority than him. I leave this in your hands, Mair.”
“Me?” Mair murmured.
“I need Lucan,” Bedivere replied, just as quietly. “Listen properly, choose fairly and everyone will abide by your decision.” He nodded at Hywel and moved away swiftly and was lost among the swirling feast-goers.
Mair turned to Hywel, her heart thudding hard. She cleared her throat. “There are barrels against a wall, over there. They are out of the way of eavesdroppers. Let us move there.”
She led him over to the barrels and sat two down from the cask which was still damp from Merlin’s wine. “Tell me what brings you from Corneus.”
Hywel ran his hands through his thinning hair, ruffling it. “My wife, Nesta, and Eurig bring me here.” He explained, while Mair stared, her astonishment growing. Eurig had been missing from Arthur’s camp for ten days. In those ten days he had ridden to Corneus alone, to meet with Nesta and take her away to his little farm on the western borders of Corneus. The pair had been lovers for months.
When Nesta disappeared, Hywel investigated and found the letters she and Eurig had exchanged. Hywel had sent men to Eurig’s farm to locate the pair, which they had done.
Then he made arrangements with his second to take charge of the home defenses and sent a letter to Eurig and Nesta to meet him in Amesbury, to resolve the matter.
“We all knew the crowning would be here at mid-summer,” Hywel explained, in his scratchy voice. “I can’t make a decision in this matter because I would call for Eurig’s head and that might not be the fair choice. You must decide, my lady.”
“They are here, Eurig and Nesta?” Mair asked, looking around.
“I can’t stand to be within sight of the man, myself,” Hywel said. “I know the pair are here, though, for Eurig’s dappled stallion is on the Corneus rope line, at the camp, out there.” He nodded toward the town gates.
Mair bit her lip. “What is the decision to be made here, Hywel? If Nesta wishes to be with Eurig, then you have little recourse.”
Hywel rubbed at his hair again. “Recompense, my lady. The house we have lived in for twenty years. Our children were raised in it. The house is Nesta’s, given to her by her mother. Now I am without a home.”
“Or a wife in that home,” Mair murmured. “If Nesta was not your wife and another man told you the story you have just told me, what would you consider to be justice and proper recompense?”
Hywel sighed. “I can’t think properly about it,” he confessed. “Eurig sent a message. He wants to return to service but cannot until this matter is settled and he knows Nesta is safe.”
“And Nesta’s opinion in this?” Mair asked.
Hywel grimaced. “She says she will meet to resolve it,” he said. Pain strained his voice.
“Send a boy to them. Tell them we will meet them on the bridge over the river as soon as they can reach it,” Mair said, hopping off the barrel. “Bedivere needs Eurig and Corneus needs you, Hywel. Let us deal with this swiftly.”
Hywel nodded. “Thank you, my lady. I will do what you ask.”
As Hywel left in search of a boy to carry a message, Mair returned to the head table. Arthur had returned to his seat. His gaze followed her as Mair rounded the table and bent to speak in Merlin’s ear.
“I seek permission to leave the feast,” Mair told Merlin. “There is a matter of justice to be decided, for Corneus. I must resolve it quickly, so Bedivere gets his lieutenant back for the battle tomorrow.”
Merlin considered. “Go,” he said shortly. “If you need help with the delivery of your decision, call upon whom you must.”
Surprised, Mair said softly, “Thank you.” She moved back through the square, adjusting to the idea that Merlin had put the resources of all of Britain at her disposal. Of course, she would not dare call upon that offer, but…
On her way through the feast, Mair tapped Parry, Nye and Iwan on the shoulder and told them to meet her at the bridge. She would be in need of witnesses.
The camp beyond the walls of the town was empty and still. No cooking fires crackled. The sentries who guarded the goods and saddlebags stuffed with belongings spread across the field stood idle, the heat making them drowsy. Mair snapped at the one who challenged her. “There are thieves abroad,” she told him. “We’ve killed two already. If anyone reports missing belongings when they return to the camp, I will hold you responsible. Tell the others who guard with you that I will also hold them accountable.”
The boy swallowed and nodded. His voice shook as he asked for the password, although he moved with greater energy, now.
In the camp, only the soft snort of horses on the rope lines broke the silence. Mair jumped saddle bags and bed rolls, and skirted the cold remains of fires, heading as directly as she could for her own packs. As she walked, she unwound her belt and removed the scabbard from it. She unlaced her gown and loosened the sleeves.
When she reached her pack, she changed into her usual leather armor. She thrust on the trews beneath her gown. Then, with a glance around to spot witnesses, she slipped off the gown and pulled the tunic over her head. Moving quickly, she added the jerkin and breastplate, arm guards and sword belt and boots. Finally, her sword and the multiple knives she had begun to carry about her body thanks to Lancelot’s training.
She loosened her hair and braided it so it laid out of the way.
Lastly, because this was a Corneus matter, she wound her cloak around h
er shoulders, so it would not stifle her with heat. She fastened it with her enameled fibula, with the red cross on the white background—the Corneus shield.
Then, her heart still hurrying, Mair strode back across the camp in the straightest line she could manage, heading for the bridge over the Avon river. The bridge laid between the camp and the giant’s dance and was out of the way. The running water would muffle their speech and give them privacy. At the same time, they would be able to monitor anyone who approached along the road.
If the air moved at all over the river, it might be a little cooler and refreshing, too.
Parry, Nye and Iwan were already at the bridge. So was Hywel. As Mair stepped onto the road and moved along its smooth surface, she heard steps behind her and turned to see the long, spare figure of Eurig. The woman beside him was tall. Her dark hair was shot with gray, and she had a regal carriage.
Mair stepped onto the bridge. “Parry, guard the other end of the bridge. Nye, Iwan, close that end.” She sat on the low stone wall in the middle of the bridge and heard the slow sluicing of water around the piers, beneath. “Hywel.” She pointed to a spot to her right. Then she glanced at the pair who had followed her onto the bridge. “Eurig, Nesta, stand there.” She pointed to her left, then rested her hands against her knees. “I have heard Hywel’s version of events. Eurig, tell me your side of the story, please.”
Eurig’s face creased in anger. “Why is this a matter for justice?” he demanded. “She is with me. What of it?”
“By her actions, Nesta deprived Hywel of a house he had come to think of as his own. There may be recompense due. Until I know all sides of the issue, I cannot judge fairly,” Mair told him. “Explain.”
Sullenly, Eurig mumbled his story. It matched Hywel’s on the major points. He had received a letter from Nesta, begging him to take her away from Corneus, which laid so close to the Saxons, who were rumored to be preparing for yet another battle. “She said not to delay,” Eurig added. “So I didn’t wait.”
Nesta turned her head to consider the man beside her. Her mouth drew into a hard, straight line. With a slow movement, she shifted her feet in their sandals, so she stood a little farther apart from him.
Mair considered Eurig. “You realize that by deserting the army without notice, you have committed a greater crime than that of which Hywel has accused you?”
Eurig scowled. “I did not desert!”
“You left no word. You stole out of the camp in the dead of the night because you knew no one would give you permission to leave.”
“Not as if others weren’t doing the same,” Eurig muttered.
Mair held up her hand. “I have yet to hear your side, Nesta. Tell me what happened, so I can decide fairly.”
Nesta’s chin lifted. “My side?” she repeated.
“Yes.”
Nesta glanced at her husband and Mair thought she could see apology in the woman’s eyes. “It is true, we have been lovers for some time.”
Hywel dropped his head.
His sorrow acted as a signal. Nesta turned and yanked Eurig’s sword from its scabbard, with a soft ring of metal. She kept turning, her spin picking up speed, the sword whizzing in a great arc.
With a grunt of effort she decapitated Eurig.
Mair leapt to her feet with a cry of protest, her hand on her own sword. Parry and Nye and Iwan ran forward, their swords out.
Hywel cried a wordless protest, too.
Nesta held up the bloody sword by the pommel, letting it hang from the tips of her fingers, as the blood dripped. She held up her other hand, too.
Everyone came to a frozen halt.
Nesta laid the sword on the ground. “Eurig lied,” she told Mair. “About everything. Even now, to you, he spoke falsely. It was he who said we should escape Corneus before the Saxons invaded. He was insistent, but I told him no and burned the letter. So he came, anyway.”
She glanced at Hywel once more. “I mistook his intentions. I thought his insistence was a measure of his feelings for me. Maybe they were, but he lied to everyone just now to hide his dishonor. He was not the good man I thought him to be.”
While Mair tried to order her breath and her heart, Nesta bent and picked up the severed head. She walked over to Hywel and held it out. “Better to have only one good man who can claim to have had me, than let this sorry beast roam the earth to speak of it.”
Hywel held out his arms. “Nesta, my sweet love.”
Nesta dropped the head and stepped into his arms.
Mair put her face in her hands. “Stars and suns preserve me…!” she breathed.
THE LAST OF THE DAY’S light tinged Bedivere’s face red. Mair suspected it would be flushed even without the sunset to color it, for Bedivere was angry.
Bedivere’s anger always ran cold. He maintained control even in the depths of the greatest fury. That control made him a formidable fighter.
Lucan winced and hid his reaction by taking a drink from the big cup in his hand.
“Eurig is dead?” Bedivere repeated.
“Nesta saw to it,” Mair said. “He lied to everyone, Bedivere. He deserted the army, too. Hywel has taken Nesta back and says justice is done, in his eyes.”
“Not in mine,” Bedivere said. He glanced around the long table, where everyone was pretending to pay them no notice. He had turned his chair to speak to Mair, as she crouched down between him and Lucan. It put most of his back to the table, but there was little privacy, nevertheless. “I am now permanently bereft of a good lieutenant right on the eve of the second great battle this summer. Where is my recompense?”
“He wasn’t a good man at all, Bedivere. His skill as an officer was his only value.”
Bedivere glared at her. Lucan winced.
Mair bit her lip. “I will find a solution, brother,” she assured him.
“Coins and cows won’t fix my loss,” Bedivere hissed. “God above, Mair!” He gripped the cup, his fingers digging in. “This is war we face.”
She got to her feet. “I know it as thoroughly as you. You will not be disadvantaged, Bedivere.” Stiffly, she walked down the long table, avoiding the gazes of everyone sitting there. At the end, as she rounded the corner, she hooked a crock of wine off the table with her finger through the handle.
No one protested, which meant they all knew her dilemma. They knew it and pitied her. The realization didn’t help her find calmness or accept what she could not change, as Merlin had suggested she do.
Mair found a barn just off the square, filled with fresh early hay and swallows chittering in the sunset. She dropped into the hay and drank deeply from the crock.
When the door creaked open, Mair sighed and looked around, preparing to scream at the intruder. Her words jammed in her throat and died.
It was Rawn.
He moved a few more paces across the straw-ridden boards and halted.
“Did you follow me here?” Mair demanded, getting to her feet.
He grimaced. “Yes.”
“Why? Why? Oh, will the world not leave me alone!”
“I will not,” Rawn said. “I cannot.” He took another small pace. “Everything we have said…all of it still lies between us and I cannot take a single word back. I meant them all, Mair. Only this is most likely the last night I…that we…” He shook his head. “I cannot stay away,” he finished, his voice low. He reached and plucked her hand from her side. He stroked his thumb over the back.
Mair took the last step and wound her arm around his neck. Her heart was racing, for she sensed the mortal thoughts behind his words. She hid her face against his shoulder. “Don’t speak of such things.” Her heart raced.
Instead, he shared them with his mouth and hands and body.
ON THE GREAT FIELD BEFORE Amesbury, as the sun rose over the pale grasses, the assembled army was divided into the contingent which would ride north, and the equal-sized force which would ride with Arthur to meet the Saxons in the south.
For the first time, Mair consciously n
oticed that even though men and arms had streamed to Amesbury from across Britain, to meet Arthur’s urgent summons, both armies were smaller than the great host which had met the Saxons at the beginning of the season.
Perhaps that was why, for the first time in Mair’s memory, the armies were assembled from the best of all the houses and tribes. Idris and Pellinore and Gawain took the captains and officers and fighters they needed from any house, regardless of that man’s allegiance.
So did Arthur. Cai moved through the ranks, tapping men on the shoulder and pointing to one or the other of the slowly coalescing forces. “The Queen’s Cohort is with Arthur,” he told Mair.
“And the bulk of the Corneus people?” she asked.
Cai frowned. “South,” he said shortly, consulting his list.
Mair tugged on Leolin’s reins and moved toward the group assembling on the south side of the field. The Queen’s Cohort gathered at the far edges of the group. She spotted Lowri among them, already mounted, and nodded.
Lowri nodded back.
As the last of the men and horses were separated and sent to one side or the other, Arthur strode into the clear space. Merlin walked behind him, his staff in his hands.
Arthur held up his hands. Silence fell.
“Idris of the North, stand before me!” Arthur said, using the battlefield voice which carried.
“Sir?” Idris said, moving around the far edge of the northern army. He led his great black stallion.
“Here!” Arthur pointed to the turf in front of him.
Smiling hugely, Gawain reached and slid the horse’s reins from Idris’ hands and pushed him forward.
Idris moved to the spot at which Arthur had pointed. His jaw worked. “My lord?”
Arthur gripped Excalibur’s hilt. “Kneel, man,” he said, his tone rough.
“I don’t understand,” Idris said, as he knelt obediently.
Arthur drew Excalibur. “Until now I could not do this. For your loyalty and friendship, Idris, my first act as High King of Britain is to declare before the united armies of the north and south that you are now King of Strathclyde.”
High King of Britain Page 20