The red gown she wore today made her hair seemed even richer in color, as did the dark green cloak she shook out and wrapped about her shoulders. She slid her curls out from the neck of the cloak and adjusted the folds. Women had a skill that men did not for arranging simple squares of cloth about them in a way that became enticing.
Lynette did it now, tucking the ends of the cloak under each other so it wrapped about her shoulders, yet still left her slender neck and the fine flesh at the base of her throat bare. It drew attention to them, in Cadfael’s mind.
Her clothes arranged to her satisfaction, the willowy woman stepped off the verandah and moved as directly as possible across the courtyard, skirting men and horses, goats and pigs. She lifted her gown so the hem didn’t drag in the dirt, which was still mired from yesterday’s rainstorm.
Unless he had lost all judgment, she was heading for him.
Her gaze settled on his face as she walked.
Yes, she intended to speak to him.
Cadfael sat up with a start. This must surely be the most interesting thing to happen all morning. Mabon was locked in with Gwilym, pressing his cause. The rest of Mabon’s men were scattered about the town, finding amusement where they may. Everyone else in the palace had duties to tend to, except for Gwilym’s oldest, the whining Mervyn.
The man had driven Cadfael away from the hearth and the wine, in search of a location where Mervyn would not venture. This corner of the cold courtyard was the only section to see sun until it was higher in the sky. The day was cool enough to keep a man inside unless he had reason to be out.
Cold did not deter Cadfael. He’d been colder more often on campaigns and before battle. The land north of Hadrian’s Wall was a frozen misery. A mild southern morning and a barrel to sit upon were luxuries in comparison.
And now, the lovely Lynette approached.
He held still, watching her, trying to guess her intention.
She came right up to him, stopping only when her hips were just short of touching his leggings. Seated upon the barrel, he was a half-a-hand shorter than when he stood. Her head was not too much lower than his. “My lord Cadfael—”
“I am no lord,” he said gruffly.
“You are the High King’s battle commander, are you not?” Her big eyes fastened upon his. Now she was closer, he could see that the red of her dress was touched by brown. The cloak was a shabby thing, yet oddly complimented the dress. There was a fine line of gold embroidery swirling around the neck of the gown, drawing his gaze to the flesh there.
“I was the High King’s battle commander,” he replied, his tone still rough. How fast word passed about this ramshackle palace!
“I doubt one like you was sent away in disgrace, which means you are still the High King’s commander. High or low born, that still gives you a superior rank to the rest of the world.”
He frowned, clamping down in his mind the warmth that came from her implied compliment. “Yesterday, you could not run away from me fast enough. Now you seek me out. I was suspicious yesterday. Now I am even more so.”
Her smile was a gorgeous thing. It grew reluctantly. She was not trying to dazzle him with it. There was a touch of chagrin in her expression, while warmth filled her eyes. “I owe you an apology for yesterday. That is why I am here.”
It was not what he had expected her to say at all. He had been braced for some coquettish overture. A batting of her eyes. A come-hither tilt of her head. His surprise loosened his tongue. “Then you are not here to distract me, or coax information from me?”
“What information would I want that you might have?” she asked. Now she was the surprised one.
Cadfael swore silently at his own indiscretion. Now, only frankness would serve. “You confess you know who I am. Here we are, in the kingdom that some say is the very heart of old Rome in its customs and its sympathies—”
“You mean Ambrosius, do you not?” she interjected.
Cadfael paused, both annoyed at her interruption and admiring of her thrusting question.
She must have sensed his irritation, for she said softly, “They call him the last true Roman, don’t they?”
True. “Yes, I mean Ambrosius.” It came out rougher than he meant.
“He is a myth,” she replied. “It has been twenty years. Ambrosius will not save Britain.”
“Oh, he’s out there,” Cadfael assured her, amused.
“Some say he went to Rome. Or Constantinople. Some say he’s dead, that he and his brother died trying to leave Britain after Vortigern…”
Cadfael did not finish the sentence she would not speak. They both knew what Vortigern had done to Constantine, his wife and their oldest son. “What does a woman know of such things?” he demanded of her.
“I listen when men talk.” Her mouth turned down. “They do not notice me.”
“I doubt that.”
Her eyes danced. “When the Princess Vivian is nearby, I assure you, no one notices any other women but her. She commands the eye.”
“Not merely draw it, as a woman should,” he concluded. He recalled the crude, drunken jests of the men as they had settled for sleep in their borrowed dormitory, last night. None of them had spoken of their lust for anyone other than Vivian.
“Do you believe Ambrosius will return?” Lynette asked.
Cadfael stared at her. How odd that a woman would turn a conversation away from herself and back to politics!
“Do you believe Ambrosius will return?” he demanded.
“If I did, my lord Cadfael, you would be the last man I would admit it to.”
His laugh emerged, gruff with surprise and louder than it should be. Heads turned.
Even Lynette smiled. Warmth filled her eyes once more. He liked that expression in her eyes. It was pleasing, which he could say of only one other woman.
His heart gave a little flutter and settled. The reminder swept away his good cheer. “You are right to be cautious about me, girl,” he growled. “For I am Vortigern’s man and will be as long as he gives me the opportunity to kill Saxons.”
Her smile fled.
Cadfael’s attention was drawn away from her pure features, caught by movement beyond her shoulder. He focused there. The hills behind the palace rose above the roofline, bright with sunlight that was still to reach here. Traveling up the worn path to the peak of the first hill was a dark haired woman upon a gray pony.
Vivian.
Cadfael lurched to his feet, watching the distant figures climb the hill. In a moment they would be over the top and gone from view. It was only these short minutes she would be visible. Even if he left now, she had too long a lead to catch her.
Fury bit deep, making his gut clench and his temples to throb. He grabbed Lynette’s arm. “You…!”
She didn’t try to wrench her arm from his grip. Instead, her chin came up. “My lord?” she said, her tone cooler than the snow on Y Wyddfa. Her gaze dropped to his other hand. He realized he gripped his knife, squeezing it convulsively.
Her gaze met his again. There was no apology there.
There was no fear showing, either, although he could see a pulse beating in her throat, giving her away.
Her courage cooled his temper. “If it is true, what they say, that you are the daughter of a lord, then I cannot kill you.”
She flinched but remained silent.
“If I cannot kill you,” he ground out, “then I have no time for you. Keep your petty intrigues away from me, woman. I am tired of them already.” He flung her arm from him. The movement turned her about.
She recovered her balance and straightened. “I wish you a good morning, my lord.”
Her chin was still up as she moved back to the verandah and the guarded door. She did not look around, not even when she reached the door.
Cadfael stayed on his feet, his hands clenched, knowing he had lied. Now, more than ever, he was determined to uncover her secret. The depths he’d glimpsed in her told him the secret would be worth uncovering.
* * * * *
A spring storm whipped the town for two days and nights before it blew itself. While it raged, no one could leave the palace even if they wanted to, for the driving rain and freezing wind soon forced them back inside, their skin bitten by the cold.
With the extra guests, the old villa was filled to bursting. Everyone huddled about the braziers and fireplaces or lingered beneath their bed furs.
When the storm broke and the sun emerged at last, a deep collective sigh of relief rippled through the palace. The animals were let loose from the barns, wood piles were restocked, while more people than usual lingered outside with their faces turned up to the sun.
Mabon and Gwilym remained in the king’s private chamber for most of the storm, to emerge on the second evening with grim smiles. They did not disclose the outcome of their long conversation.
When the storm ended, Mabon did not immediately announce his departure. Instead, he lingered by the fire, either staring moodily into the flames, or listening to the men talk around him.
“He’s a broody boy, that one,” Iva observed, for she had spent the day at the back of the hall with the queen’s women. “He’s in two minds about something,” she reported back to Vivian’s women, “although neither of them will say what that might be. The men are uneasy, too.”
“His men or Gwilym’s?” someone asked.
“They were all irritable,” Iva said. “They want to leave.”
However, until Mabon chose to go, everyone lingered, rubbing each other like flint and stone.
On the first morning of pale sunlight after the storm, Vivian pulled Lynette aside. “I must see to Emrys,” she told her. “His fever was great.”
“That was two days ago,” Lynette pointed out.
“So now he will either be dead, or the fever broken, in which case, he will be weaker than the sun out there. He’ll need food.”
Lynette shook her head. “No, Vivian. I cannot lure the man away again. He’s suspicious.”
She did not voice the remainder of her reservation, for she was still working those few moments in the courtyard through her mind, trying to understand the undercurrents. It was rare for her to not understand the motives and desires driving any man she spoke to. A man’s gaze would always betray him, if his grasping eagerness did not.
Men were predictable and therefore controllable. If she smiled a certain way, moved a certain way or arranged herself in postures that put her figure on best display, then they would do whatever she asked of them, all while thinking it was their idea in the first place.
She had been aware of this power over men before arriving in Maridunum. Every woman had the gift, if they were clever enough to recognize and use it. Even the oldest hag, gray of hair and toothless, her youthful looks long gone, could still play upon a man’s sympathies for her vulnerabilities, or soothe his manly aches and pains with her knowledge of herbs and medicines, stitch his wounds and weave his war cloaks and thereby win for herself protection, shelter and food.
Vivian, though, had taught Lynette far more of the art of manipulating men. Vivian understood both men and women, how their minds worked, what drove them to act as they did and she had shared it with Lynette.
Men considered women helpless, good only for the bearing and rearing of sons. High born women had a single additional value, for they cemented political alliances through marriage.
Knowing how to win a man’s favor gave a woman a level of security that life rarely provided. Cadfael, though, was a different matter.
“Cadfael will no longer bend to my will,” Lynette told Vivian now. “That arrow has been loosed and is lost.”
“You did not believe him when he said he was no longer interested in your machinations, did you?” Vivian asked her.
“No,” Lynette said. “He was clearly lying on that score. Suspicion comes naturally to a man like him, for he is used to protecting kings from every threat. Only, Vivian, after two days of inactivity, hunched about the fires, all the men will be eager to stretch their legs. The horses, too. The hills will be thick with them. You cannot risk—”
Vivian cut her off with a curt chop of her hand. “The risk to myself is immaterial. I must help Emrys.”
Lynette threaded her hands together and squeezed her fingers, holding in her impatience and her fear. “You still will not share with me why this single stranger is so important you will risk the wrath of two kings and their senior officers?”
“It is not yet time for that.”
Lynette considered the princess. She rarely lied to Lynette…at least, Lynette had not uncovered any of Vivian’s deceptions aimed at her. Vivian implied she would explain later. Lynette had to be content with that. She came back to her original point. “I am not the one to distract your watchdog, Vivian. Not anymore. Perhaps one of the other women—”
“It must be you.”
“Why? Why must it be me? I don’t understand. You yourself taught me to leave a man alone once his guard was up. Cadfael is beyond that point. He will automatically disbelieve anything I tell him, now.”
A tiny line appeared between Vivian’s brows. Her jaw set. “I have spoken, woman. You will do this.”
Lynette knew that tone. She had pushed the boundaries of their friendship. The princess had issued an order to her lady. Lynette sighed. “He is a warrior, Vivian. A battle commander, used to reaching for his sword. If I anger him, and I most certainly will if I so much as speak to him directly…”
Vivian’s face smoothed out. The icy expression thawed and she gripped Lynette’s wrist. “I know what I ask of you. This is more important than either of us, Lynette.”
Lynette shook her head. “I do not understand how your Sight works. I am not gifted in that way. You have only ever seen little things in the light—births and deaths and pairings. The sex of an unborn child. Emrys, though, is not a part of women’s affairs. It is difficult to trust that what you see is as important as you say.”
“That is the risk of trust, isn’t it?” Vivian’s gaze focused inward. “When I see things, it is not a vision that comes to me. There is so much more that I understand, even though no words or warnings come with the vision. I have learned to trust what my Sight chooses to share with me. I know we are at the crux of a moment in time that will change the future, the future’s future and all the years beyond that.”
Invisible fingers stroked along the center of Lynette’s back. She shivered, as her neck prickled. Her heart thudded. “If I disarm the suspicions of the High King’s most senior officer and keep him blind to your business,” she added. Her voice sounded flat after Vivian’s poetic cadences.
Vivian smiled. “Indeed. That is your task in this affair.”
“If you have seen nothing of my future, then have you seen something of his?”
Vivian smiled.
“Yes, of course. You will tell me later,” Lynette said.
“When the time is right. Even you will know when the time is right,” Vivian assured her.
Lynette resigned herself to the task facing her. “Very well. Although I do not know how I am to manage this. If I go near him, he’ll push me aside and immediately search for you.”
Vivian tilted her head, her eyes narrowing. She gripped Lynette’s wrist, her fingers digging in. “Then you must go into the hills, instead.”
Chapter Five
Coins were rare in Britain, these days. The departing Romans had taken most of their coins with them. The occasional solidus or miliarense could be found, generally in the coffers of Romans who remained in Britain. The resulting shortage meant the sight of real coins could turn the heads of most men.
The buck-toothed lad’s eyes bugged when Cadfael held out the copper solidus. His hand hovered, as if he didn’t quite believe his good fortune, that if he touched the coin, it would disappear.
Cadfael gripped his wrist, flipped his hand and slapped the coin onto his palm. The lad was quick enough to close his fingers over the coin when he felt the real
weight of it. He instantly settled upon the barrel in the corner of the courtyard, ready to stay there forever, if necessary.
With the boy watching the courtyard, ready to alert Cadfael the instant the princess left the palace, Cadfael was free to check on Mabon’s men. It had been an uncomfortable pair of days, locked inside. He sent groups of them out hunting for fresh meat, which would exercise both men and horses.
He strode down the length of the verandah to the suite of rooms given to Mabon and his queen. He would see if the man was of a mind to tear himself away from the fire and return to Calleva. It was too late to leave today, for it was past midday already, although the news that they were to leave upon the morrow would hearten the men.
Cadfael was eager to leave. There were too many undercurrents and secrets swirling about this place to keep track of and it was impossible to guess where allegiances and loyalties lay. Gwilym was nominally an ally of Vortigern’s and spoke of the High King respectfully, yet he and his household showed every sign of being pro-Roman. The only thing Cadfael knew for certain about Gwilym’s true loyalties was that the old king hated Saxons with as much passion as any Briton.
When Cadfael could not tell friend from foe, he could not spot potential threats to Mabon. Once they were on the road and traveling back to Calleva, the only threat Rafael had to concern himself with was the usual risks of travel in these uncertain times. Although even robbers and highway pillagers thought twice about attacking such a large compliment of men.
Yes, leaving Maridunum would be a good thing. It would allow him to relax and dispel the tension that had been gripping his chest and making his heart beat heavier than it should since he had arrived.
He glanced toward the corner of the yard. The boy was where he had left him. The boy shook his head at Cadfael. The princess was still in the palace, then.
Cadfael knocked and waited. No one answered. He pushed the door open and looked in. The room and the one beyond it with the big bed were both empty. Mabon would be in the main hall, then.
Once and Future Hearts Box One Page 5