And from her seat near her uncle's side, Gweniver smiled up at me. She looked so fair that night, glad and high-hearted; weary as were we all with battle's strain and battle's horror, but still sword-sharp. I do not recall how she was clad, but her long black hair was still braided up in the mionn, only a few loose tendrils come undone to soften the planes of her face.
All this I took in at a moment's glance: Uthyr had swept me into his arms, his delight at seeing me even greater than his Queen's, and now he kissed me on either cheek as my own father would have done, with a murmured word for my ear alone of his love and pride, and his joy to see me safe. I returned his embrace and his loving words as the son he had always avowed me, then stepped back and drew myself up, giving formal salute to the High King of Keltia from his loyal liegeman.
Just as I looked about for the one person I had thought surely to see, the tent door opened and he came in. Arthur went arrow-straight to his uncle—I am sure he saw no one else just then, not even his mother—and, hand on sword-hilt, went to one knee before his King.
Uthyr raised him at once, looked on him in silence for perhaps ten seconds—and even I, clear on the other side of the tent, had to lower my eyes before the look in the King's—then embraced him, not as he had embraced me, with exuberance, or as I later heard he had hugged Gweniver, with tenderness and tears, but with a kind of fierce wordless vehemence I had never seen in him before; nor in anyone, for that matter—it is the kind of emotion born of an infrequent moment, combining love and terror and relief and pride. Arthur looked back at his uncle, and though I could not see his face I saw his shoulders tremble.
Then the mood broke, Uthyr calling out for wine or ale to celebrate; Arthur turning then to his mother and to me, the others talking together of the day's events. Only Merlynn maintained his silent watchfulness; though what he watched for I could not imagine, and, strangely, feared to try.
When all of us held full methers, and the tent doors closed at last, Uthyr nodded once, and we seated ourselves in obedience to his wish. But he himself remained standing, Ygrawn in a field-chair at his right hand, Morgan on his left, and Arthur and Gweniver side by side before him.
I myself was over against the tent wall, next to the still silent Merlynn; though I had ventured a mental inquiry, my old teacher had chosen not to reply—Ailithir yet lived, it seemed—and with a sigh I turned expectantly toward the King.
And Uthyr looked that night every inch a king: Healthily flushed, bright-eyed, clad openly now in the colors and embroidered device of the House of Don, he stood before us as our ruler, and he spoke to us as our friend.
"I have bidden all you here this night," he began, "to tell you a thing I think most of you may know already, or have guessed at. This day I am High King of Keltia in openness, not merely in name; and though it may take long before I am Ard-righ in truth, over a Keltia free of the scourge it has borne these two centuries past, tonight I take action for that future, and I name my successor to follow me in formal naming."
Gweniver's head came up at that, and Arthur lowered his. I saw Ygrawn's violet glance move from one to the other of them, then it slanted over to meet my own. And all this time it seemed that no one breathed in that tent; even the camp outside seemed hushed.
Uthyr could restrain himself no longer. "Now in the presence of this company to witness it, Merlynn Archdruid"—I startled at the unexpected title, but kept still—"to bless it, Alun Cameron Lord Chief Brehon of Keltia to sanction it, Marigh Aberdaron Taoiseach of Keltia to confirm it, do I name Gweniver Pendreic ferch Leowyn and Arthur Pendreic ap Amris, latterly known as Arthur Penarvon ap Gorlas, to be co-heirs to Keltia; jointly to rule when time comes for it as High Queen and High King equally, Ard-righ and Ard-rian together. So say I, Uthyr King of Kelts."
The silence was profound; even though I daresay most of those who heard this ringing pronouncement had known beforehand what the King should say, and most of the others had suspected, still it came as a shock—even to me—to hear it declared.
But two there were to whom it came as a greater shock even than that, two who had had absolutely no knowledge, no suspicions, and those were the two it concerned most nearly: Arthur and Gweniver themselves.
At his uncle's pronouncing Gweniver's name, Arthur had relaxed in his chair; when Uthyr had gone on to declare him as co-heir, Ard-righ to be, Arthur's face had flushed red as fire, and he would not lift his eyes to the King's. But Gweniver stared at her uncle, and I thought as I looked on her that I had never seen so pale a face or so tight-drawn a mouth.
"Gwennach, I am sorry," said Uthyr then, in a voice so gentle I felt tears come hot to my eyes. "But it is the best and only way for you both, and for all Keltia."
"Highness, it is truly best," said Marigh, slipping adroitly in before any other could speak. "I say this as Taoiseach, and as your uncle's honored friend and servant who would be yours also, and the Prince's, in the years ahead."
Gweniver gave her barely a glance, still intent on her uncle. "Why is it then I have a feeling there is more to come? Let you drop the other boot, Lord, before the echo of the first has faded."
Uthyr glanced down at Ygrawn, who slipped her hand into his but did not look up.
"Well then," he said, and now he looked at Gweniver alone, "it is likewise ordered that you two shall wed. For the good of the succession, and since there is no lawful way that either of you can take the throne in the other's despite. Your heirs would then be unquestioned heirs of the line of Don, and the law be satisfied. This is my will, Gwennach," he added in a gentler voice, "but it is also my wish; and it is my hope, devoutly, that it will likewise come to be yours."
Neither word nor move from Arthur or Gweniver; but I sat back a little in my chair, blowing out my breath in a silent whistle. Of all those in the tent, perhaps only Merlynn and I, and doubtless Ygrawn, had known the King's full intent, and I—presumably Merlynn also—was most interested to see how this second part of Uthyr's intention did work upon the others. Alun Cameron's face bore a small smile, as if this were something he should have seen coming but had not; Marigh Aberdaron, initially astonished, had mastered her surprise almost at once, and was now almost visibly running over the options and reasons in her most beautifully logical mind.
And what of Morgan, who was after all Uthyr's own daughter? Not to mention Marguessan, who as Uthyr's elder daughter might be forgiven for thinking some heirship rights due to her—and to the child about to be born to her… I could not see Morgan's face from where I sat, but I did not need to see her: Reaching out with my mind, I found hers reaching at the same instant for mine, and sensed only a cool amusement at the idea I hesitantly suggested. I, or Marguessan, as Ard-rian? Talyn, sometimes you can be so very stupid… But the scorn was lovingly and teasingly expressed, and I sent back sheepish agreement in answer. Our communication was interrupted as Gweniver rose abruptly to her feet; she threw Arthur one burning look—which he missed, having still his glance bent upon his hands—and then faced her uncle.
"And if I do not agree to this?" she snapped. "This compact was made behind my back and without my knowledge; without the knowing of most of those here, if the surprise I see and sense is any true indicator. How if I say no?"
"Be Ard-rian, then," said Uthyr wearily. "Take the throne alone, and welcome to it—if you think you can hold Keltia together and draw the folk to follow you only and command the fight against the Marbh-draoi. You will lose, Gwennach; and we will be the lesser for it, and the folk will suffer for it most of all, and more than you."
Her resistance to the thing had not lessened one scrappet; but at the King's word of how the people would pay for her refusing, Gweniver's resolve faltered a little. And not to be wondered at: She was a princess born and bred, to her the folk were everything; she would do on their behalf what she would never do on her own. Even, it appeared, marry Arthur…
"We have never had such a thing—a joint sovereignty—in Keltia," she said then, uncannily echoing my words long since t
o Merlynn.
"We have never had such times in Keltia," I countered, judging it my moment to speak. "You are unquestionably to be Ard-rian, lady, by law of succession and right of descent; but Arthur is unquestionably to be Ard-righ by law of arms and right of conquest, and by a different mode of reckoning succession. And Keltia has never failed to honor a claim of either sort. The only solution—for you, for Arthur, for us all—is as the Ard-righ does bid you."
The battle that had been that day was not plainer fought than the war now to be beheld raging on Gweniver's face. And all this time Arthur sat in his chair beside her and never said a word and never moved at all. If he had, I think he would have lost Keltia and Gweniver together, right there, right then. As it was… but he had ever known how to wait, one of the most difficult learnings there is. Some never learn—myself perhaps among those—and some take longer than others, but do learn most well in the end—and Gweniver ferch Leowyn was surely among those.
All at once Gweniver smiled—a bitter smile, but a real one—and capitulated.
"Then I do submit me to the will of the Ard-righ. How says the Prince of the Name? Shall he take up his father's place?"
Arthur flushed, then paled again, then rose to stand beside the Princess, his hand clenched around the great seal ring he wore on his left hand: the seal of Amris Pendreic, Prince of Don.
"My father—as you know well, lady—was never King of Kelts as should have been; as yours was. But I say in his name that I too submit me to the will of the Ard-righ; and if it is likewise your will, we shall wed and rule as Uthyr King of Kelts has said."
For one moment more Gweniver held out mutinous and counter; then she held out her hand in silence, and in silence Arthur took it, and in silence they both did reverence before the King.
That was not the last of it that night: After Arthur and Gweniver had sworn between Uthyr's hands, taking the oath together as Tanist and Tanista to uphold the Ard-tiarnas of Keltia, there were documents produced by Alun Cameron and Marigh Aberdaron for the two co-heirs to sign, and then all of us present set our own hands thereto as witnesses.
Gweniver left the tent as soon as she might decently do so, alone and hastily; Morgan—with a quizzical glance at me that might have been either exasperation or rare understanding, and most like was both—went out after her, to offer what cheer or consolation she might. The more likely to be accepted because of the source—Gweniver was sincerely and deeply attached to Morgan, and that not least because she knew her cousin, in spite of being the reigning King's child, had not the smallest tiniest design on queenship. Nor, to the best of my knowing, had Morgan ever had such design: Her ambitions, high enough, lay with magic and not with majesty. Now her sister Marguessan—But my reflections were interrupted by Arthur's hand on my shoulder.
"Come, braud; I would walk a while, and would not walk alone." The tent had emptied by now of all save us two and the King and Queen; we made our goodnights lovingly if swiftly, and left them—doubtless they were glad to be private at last, to discuss the day's victory, and this night's victory as well.
Outside, the camp was quiet, settling down for the night. We walked with no clear destination in mind, just wandered through the camp shoulder to shoulder, in silence for the most part, Arthur mechanically taking the salutes of the Fian guards we passed. After perhaps half an hour's walk, round and about, we found ourselves near to that little hill from which I had that afternoon looked southward over the land my visions had shown me. That region was dark now, all the south was dark; but turning back again we could see that all else was strewn with the sparks of quartz-hearths, and the warm glow of the little field-lamps that hung in hundreds of tents.
"I had not thought to wed again," said Arthur abruptly. "And clearly she had not thought to wed me—for which I scarce do blame her. We have not been the most loving of cousins over the years, nor the dearest of friends; as to anything more, or deeper—"
"She will wed you, Artos," I said.
I saw his head nod against the little lights. "Aye, for it is duty. And duty will see me wed to her—as you and the King did say, there is no other choice. She will make a fine Ard-rian."
"And you a great Ard-righ—perhaps the greatest."
His laugh was bleak and bitter. "Certainly the most fated! And yet do you remember, Talynno, when we were lads at Daars, how I longed for just such a dan—now it seems that I shall have it, will I or nill I. All if the Marbh-draoi falls, that is… at the moment I am not even able to lay hands on his heir and creature, the execrable Owein—who this day, even I am bound to say, fought more creditably than I did think to see. But I shall slay him all the same."
I held my tongue, for I knew what he was thinking, and it was not to do with Owein, but with the mother of Owein's heir: Gwenwynbar, and the boy Malgan who might or might not be Arthur's son. One fight at a time, braud, I said silently, mind to mind, and heard his answering laugh of agreement.
"Let us go back now," he said then aloud. "I would change my garb, and bathe, and sleep at least a few hours; also I left Cabal tied up in my tent so that he might not follow us, and now I must take him out for a run before we sleep. I would look in again on the King and my mother, too," he added. "It was more tiring, I think, for him waiting at Llwynarth for word of the fight than for us who actually fought."
"Bid them good rest from me also," I said, then caught his cloak, for there was a great swath of red-brown, still damp, along the side of his tunic, visible now in the glare as we passed a torch-pole, that I had not noticed before; the rusty color matched his hair.
"A scratch, literally," he said smiling, seeing my horrified look. "One of the fighting-cats whose Raven master I had killed—Cabal dispatched the beast, but not before it had dug in its claws. Almost as sharp a scratcher as that ill-tempered little kitten my mother used to keep… Give you good night, braud."
I watched him walk away, then took another path through the campment, for I was utterly wide-awake, juddery with that kind of energy that comes of overtiredness, and had not a hope of sleep until I had walked my mood out a little. So, though I thought with longing of my bed, and of Morgan already asleep—I could sense her calm dreamlessness even through my unsettled humor—I hitched my cloak around me to keep out the spring chill and headed back toward the lights. After perhaps another half hour I began to grow tired, and turned my steps to take me back to the tent I shared with Morgan. As I crossed the path that led up to Uthyr's tent, my dull brain registered Arthur passing perhaps twenty yards ahead of me. It was not until a hundred paces later that the thought struck me: Cabal had not been with him. And then a further thought, and this one struck to the heart: As Arthur—or the man I had thought to be Arthur—had passed in front of me, the light from a quartz-hearth had fallen on him, and there had been no bloodstain on his tunic.
The thought takes too long to recount: By now I was flying back to Uthyr's tent as if Arawn's death-hounds, those red-eared, white-coated, four-footed terrors, were upon my heels. Because now I knew why we had not been able to find Owein Rheged.
It was a longer distance back to the King's tent than I had realized; but I covered it like a hunted hare, shouting as I went for warriors to follow me, praying against the dawning certainty rising within me that my fears were all unfounded.
At last I reached the little hill on which stood Uthyr's tent. All looked peaceful from without: The lights still shone within, though there were no guards outside, and that too gave new wings to my fears and feet alike. Then I saw the guards, lying huddled just outside the light thrown by the torches; and in that same moment of seeing, and knowing they were dead, I threw open the flap of Uthyr's tent.
I have heard that a warrior receiving a mortal wound, or a charioteer driving headlong into an unavoidable collision, or a rider being thrown at a wall, will all say alike, if they live to speak of it after, that it seemed the moment was endless: that they could count the spokes on the oncoming chariot wheels, could have reached up to seize the flying spe
ar, could have counted every stone of the fence, so stretched and slow-moving did time suddenly become.
And I felt it now, save that it was more as if time had stopped, for me and for all of us: For what I saw, as I stood frozen on the threshold of the tent, could have stopped time forever.
Uthyr lay crumpled on the floor of the tent, the arms of Don on his tunic reddening as I watched. Ygrawn I could not see at all. But what held my gaze and near stole away my reason was what I saw not ten feet in front of me: Arthur, locked in mortal combat with—himself.
Two Arthurs were blade to blade before me, fighting in silence and in savagery: And even as I watched in anguish and horror, even as Fian guards came pounding up behind me, even as I stepped forward—instinctively, and unarmed as I was—with some mad thought of halting the fight, even as all this the two Arthurs—one of whom was Arthur in truth and the other Owein Rheged—cut each other down, falling to lie beside the fallen King on the blood-washed floor of the tent.
(Here ends The Hawk's Gray Feather, the first book in The Tales of Arthur sequence of THE KELTIAD. The second book is called The Oak Above the Kings.)
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Glossary
The Hawk's Gray Feather Page 38