Of the other servants—it would take weeks to tell. Amren, who showed me how to look after weapons, was Bedwyr’s servant, and a Breton like his master. He had traveled in Gaul before he took service with Bedwyr, and could tell tales of the south, of Lugdunum and Massilia and the ships that leave for Rome and Carthage, tell them all night, if he was allowed to. And then there was Aegmund, a Saxon from Deira: he’d sworn to serve the lord Rhuawn at the beginning of the war with the Saxons, thirteen years and more before, when Rhuawn first went raiding. After the battle of Baddon, Rhuawn freed him and offered to help him return to a Saxon kingdom, but Aegmund had become a Christian, married, made a home, and wanted to stay. There were others—but enough of that. Suffice it that, by and large, despite Cei and Agravain and some others like them, Camlann was better than I had hoped it would be. I was sorry when Gwalchmai told me that we were to leave it again.
It was a day in mid-March, chill and rainy. I was in one of the store-rooms whitewashing a shield, and my lord sought me out there to tell me that we were to ride on the morrow.
I set my brush down in confusion. “Where are we riding, then, my lord? And for how long?”
“Just to Gwynedd.” Gwalchmai dropped into a crouch beside me and studied the shield with interest. The months since our arrival had done him good, taking the gaunt, bitter look from his face, but leaving a kind of restlessness more plainly marked. He was wearing a gold collar, and the collar of his cloak was of embroidered leather, very fine, so that he looked more kingly than usual, and he could look fairly royal in a homespun tunic. Nonetheless, he picked up the whitewashing brush and frowned at the pot of lime. “Whose shield is this?”
“Constans’s,” I said automatically, wondering what next.
“You shouldn’t be doing his.” Gwalchmai dipped the brush in the lime and began to dab it on the shield. “I’ve told you, you’re doing more than your share of work as it is.”
“Well, Macsen had to go and find some more thatch for the Hall today, and Constans wanted the shield done this week, so what’s wrong in offering help? Don’t you start doing it. Did you say we were going to Gwynedd?”
He nodded, painting carefully around the shield-boss.
“Just to Gwynedd.” Gwynedd was ruled by Arthur’s greatest enemy, King Maelgwn ap Docmail, and the whole kingdom was a refuge for all who hated the Pendragon. “Just” to Gwynedd.
“For how long?” I asked.
He shrugged. “As long as is necessary.” The side of the brush grazed the shield-boss, leaving a white smear on it, and Gwalchmai looked about for something to clean it. I picked up a rag and rubbed the stain off myself. Gwalchmai leaned back on his heels. “My lord had been planning to send someone to Maelgwn this spring; we had only about two-thirds of tribute due us from Gwynedd last year. As usual. It was necessary for us to deal with the man; and now there is this new matter of his reported guests, and the matter has become urgent. My lord wishes us to leave at once.”
“Guests? More outlaws?”
“No—at least, the reports do not seem to suggest that.” Gwalchmai smiled, but his right arm, resting across his knees, stretched out so that his fingers brushed his sword-hilt. “One of my lord’s men in Caer Segeint sent that some foreigners came to the port, sailing in curraghs, which they were permitted to draw up high onto the beach. There were horses and wagons provided to convey them to Degannwy. The visitors spoke Irish.”
I let out my breath in a little hiss. “Aengus of the Dalriada? Surely even Maelgwn would not make alliance with a king of Erin!”
“Why not? He hates Arthur even more than he hated the raiders. But Aengus is more likely. We will find out soon enough. My lord wishes to impress Maelgwn with the fact that he is watched, and that Arthur can move quickly.” Gwalchmai began painting the shield again. It was never any use telling him not to.
I stared at him, tightening and trying to relax my grip on the cleaning rag. “Won’t Maelgwn…Isn’t it dangerous?”
Gwalchmai paused a moment, then shook his head. “Maelgwn will hardly have us killed, if that is what you mean.” He resumed painting. “Such a killing would be sure to come out, and Arthur would break him for it. Maelgwn is cautious, a cunning fox of a man. He never takes unnecessary risks. He will try to find some way of outwitting us instead.”
I knew that Gwalchmai must be right. He knew a great deal about the ways of kings, far more than I did. But I had been raised on stories of border clashes with Gwynedd, and did not like the thought of living among enemies. But, I told myself, what else have you come for? You wanted to fight for the Light, and here is a chance. The Emperor’s enemies plotting against him, and you and your lord ready to ride off into the midst of them, like Constantine in the songs…I still didn’t like the sound of it. But I told myself that I should be eager for this chance to do something and asked, “What time tomorrow do you want to leave?”
“As early as possible. An hour or so before dawn would be good. I would like to reach Caer Gwent by nightfall.”
“But that’s a good fifty miles away, and across Mor Hafren!”
“We will press the horses, and the ferry will run at evening. And if your horse is too tired, you can change horses at Caer Gwent.”
Yes, in such a case we could stay at a fortress. No sleeping in the open this journey. And the snow was over, though it was by no means warm. It wouldn’t be unbearable.
Gwalchmai noticed my sour look and suggested, “They will treat your horse well at Caer Gwent, and you can pick him up on the way back.”
He would think of worrying about something like that. I sighed. “I’ll do that, then. What will we need? Do you wish to travel light?”
“Light as we can, but take enough to impress. Is that shield of mine with the enameled boss in good condition?”
“I cleaned it last week.”
“I’ll take that, then. And my other shield, in case there is any fighting. Rhuawn is also coming: there must be at least two warriors on such an embassy as this. We’ll take one pack-horse for the three of us, and change horses at Caer Gwent. You will need to talk to Rhuawn’s servant Aegmund about that.”
“Is Aegmund coming?” I asked hopefully. I liked the man.
But my lord shook his head. “No. One servant is enough. Besides, the man’s a Saxon, and can’t ride to save his life.” He painted over the last blank area of the shield with a flourish and leant back to consider it, then set the brush down and stood up.
I also stood, rubbing my hands with the cleaning rag, as though I’d done the work.
“If you need me, I am going to talk to Bedwyr, and then to my brother, and after that I will see to my horse,” Gwalchmai informed me. I nodded, and he slapped me on the shoulder and limped off.
I stood a moment, still clutching my cleaning rag, making a mental list of all that would have to be done. The first thing, I decided, would be to find Macsen and tell him that I couldn’t fix any more of Constans’s armor.
By that evening I had almost everything ready. Aegmund was a great help in it. He was horrified at the thought of riding from Camlann to Caer Gwent in one day, although his lord Rhuawn only nodded and said he thought it a fine idea. When the two of us began packing, we were a bit unsure of what to do: how is one to pack for three men, using one pack-horse which must be burdened lightly for a fast journey but still carry enough both to impress and to last out a stay of indefinite duration? In the end, though, we managed something, and I felt triumphant as I cinched down the last buckles on the pack.
“And an hour before dawn tomorrow,” Aegmund said gleefully, “you will already be up and off. If I wake up, I will think of you.”
“If. Not likely, my friend, not likely. And we will not reach Caer Gwent until after nightfall. I wish you were coming.”
Aegmund shook his head. “Though I will have much care for you, and for our lor
ds. Well, God go with you.”
“He will have to, if I am to stay awake on this journey. But there, I wanted it.”
Aegmund grinned, and we slid the loaded pack up onto the wall of our pack-horse’s stall, ready for the morning. We turned to leave the stable, then saw the Pendragon himself walking towards us, the dim light from our lamp glittering on his golden collar. We both bowed respectfully and stood aside for him, but he stopped when he came to us.
“Aegmund,” he said, smiling, “I hoped you would still be here. I have a gift for Cynyr, lord of Caer Gwent. It is up in the Hall; ask the Queen for it. It is only a cup, man, you can easily fit it onto the top of the pack.”
Aegmund grinned, said, “Yes, myn kyning,” using one of his rare phrases of Saxon, and was off to fetch the gift. I was ready to bow again and disappear too, but Arthur snapped his fingers for attention, and said, “Rhys, I wish to speak with you a moment.”
“As you will, my lord,” I said, surprised.
Arthur walked on up the stable a little way, and, after a moment’s hesitation, I followed him. He stopped at Ceincaled’s stall and leaned over it, looking at the horse. “Do you know,” he asked me, softly, “where Degannwy is?”
“In the mountains of Arfon,” I said.
Arthur made a clucking sound to the horse, and Ceincaled came over and sniffed at his hand, scattering the dim lamplight. Arthur let his hand rest on the horse’s withers. It was a strong, square, sensitive hand, an amethyst ring glowing purple on the ring finger. “Has Gwalchmai told you the story of the daughter of Caw?”
I suddenly remembered why Arfon was significant. “Yes, Great Lord,” I said, and, feeling that this needed some explanation, added, “by way of penance, I think.”
Arthur smiled at that. “He desires to do penance rather more than is good for him.” The hand dropped from the horse’s shoulder and rested on the wall of the stall, the light dying in the amethyst as it parted from the lamplight. The emperor turned, and looked at me a moment. “You have some liking for Gwalchmai, I think,” he told me.
“Great Lord…” I said, surprised again, then went on, “he’s a good man.”
“Then I will speak freely.” Arthur crossed his arms, leaning against the stall. “I once commanded your lord not to kill Bran of Llys Ebrauc, not because I particularly cared to save Bran’s life, but because I knew Gwalchmai, and knew him to be too proud to easily endure knowing that he had killed from hatred. If you know the tale, you know the outcome of that command. Gwalchmai is hard on himself, and will yet insist on seeking this woman. I cannot give him another command, to forget it and her, since there are some things that cannot be commanded. But no king ever had a better warrior than I have in Gwalchmai, and I do not want him to be too hard on himself. Nor do I want him to find the woman.”
He saw the question in my face, for he smiled. “I only met that woman once, but from what I have heard, and from what I know of her brothers, I doubt that she will be willing to forgive. Their father, Caw, died fighting for the king his brother when I took the imperium. It was in the field of battle, yet, because I wished to have the good will of the royal clan of Ebrauc, I saw that Caw was buried with full honors, and returned all his goods to his clan, with praises of his courage and expressions of good will. It is reasonable that children should hate the man who caused their father’s death, but the children of Caw went beyond the will of the royal clan, and returned to me many expressions of pride and desire for revenge, saying that while the weak and cowards may forgive a wrong, the glory of the nobility is to avenge it. They were brave men, the sons of Caw, loyal to their friends, but implacable enemies; they are yet enemies, those that live, and for all that I do they will not be reconciled. I do not think that Elidan daughter of Caw will differ in this from her brothers.” He uncrossed his arms again, his eyes fixing on nothing, as they sometimes did when he was thinking. “And if Gwalchmai finds her, and she accuses him again—it will be worse for him than before.”
“Wouldn’t it still be better than uncertainty?” I asked.
Arthur’s eyes fell on me again, and he smiled quickly. “Possibly, and possibly not. I will not ask you to prevent him from seeing her, if she is indeed somewhere in Arfon. Only this: if your lord orders you to stay with Rhuawn or return to Camlann or Degannwy or any such place, while he goes questing for the daughter of Caw, do not obey him. Tell him that I have told you this, if he asks the reason. Do not let him see her alone, and take care for him. If he has someone with him, he will exercise some restraint on himself.”
I thought of my father telling Gwalchmai to use his sword to protect me, and here I was being told to protect Gwalchmai. I had to smile at it.
“Great Lord,” I said, then stopped, and decided that his Latin title would be more fitting: “Imperator Arthurus, I would have had some inclination of my own to do as you say, at least as regards his not questing alone; I am glad to have a command for it.”
Arthur smiled slowly. “A very insolent and insubordinate servant indeed! Excellent.” He gave the horse one more slap on the withers, and then we walked back down the darkened stables. The spring stars looked out through a wrack of cloud, and Aegmund was coming back down the hill with the golden cup and a lantern which cast a warm buttercup-yellow glow against the dark sky.
It was more than an hour before dawn when we left the next morning, and Camlann was eerily still under a faint moon. Everyone spoke in whispers as we saddled the horses and led them from the stable, their hooves loud in the silence, the jingle of their harness muffled by the moist air. The Emperor Arthur and the Queen Gwynhwyfar, half-seen forms in the dusk, bade us God speed and then we mounted and trotted off from the Hall, down the hill to the main gate, and out onto the road.
We did not take the usual path and ride down to Ynys Witrin to follow the Roman road north. Instead, we took one of the old, rough tracks across the hills directly north from Camlann, crossed the Briw river, and took a smaller Roman road up north to reach the ferry. The small Roman road does not go all the way there, but only up to the hills, where the Aesce river has its springs. The roads were thus bad all the way, but we had good horses, and to go by Ynys Witrin took us fifteen miles east, which we would have had to double by another fifteen miles back westward.
We set a fast pace, trotting steadily. I was half asleep, and slouched on Llwyd’s back, thinking of my warm bed, cursing Aegmund in his, and vaguely wondering why it was necessary to go so far in one day.
We forded the Briw about seven miles downstream of Ynys Witrin. The water was cold and came up to the horses’ bellies, so that we had nearly to sit on our legs to avoid drenching. It was still dark then, though the moon was low and the east gray. When we crossed the river, Ceincaled tossed his head and neighed, loud and clear and triumphant. Gwalchmai laughed. “A fine day for a journey!”
I grunted.
As we went on up the winding track, the moon set, and the whole earth became gray, while the birds and animals of the land round about began to stir. Then the sun rose slowly, fiery and immense over the flat lowlands. I looked at it and, thought, “Bad weather coming,” but said nothing.
By the time we reached the Aesce, the birds were singing over the whole earth, and the wet grasses shone with amber and silver. Geese cried overhead, streaming towards the marshes, and before us lay the great mass of the hills, blue-gray and green.
“A fair country,” said Rhuawn. “I wonder if the stories are true.”
Gwalchmai shrugged. This part of Dumnonia is called Gwlad yr Haf, Kingdom of Summer, which is also one of the commonest names we in the south have for the Other-world. It is said that men have found doors into the hills, and wandered through them into strange worlds, where the Fair Ones feast in halls thatched with silver and the feathers of birds. There are the common tales of persons who are rescued from the hills, and the stories of those who spend a night there, and find
that a hundred years have passed when they come out again, and so on.
“They say that the Kingdom of Summer is more beautiful than the earth,” Rhuawn murmured.
“It is,” said Gwalchmai. “And yet I am not sure that it is wholly distinct from it.”
Rhuawn gave him a steady, serious look. Gwalchmai turned Ceincaled westward, following the Aesce to find the branch of it which would take us up its gorge into the hills. We walked the horses to give them a rest from the rapid trot which had taken us from Camlann, and their hooves sounded soft on the marshy ground, while the river gurgled beside us. Gwalchmai looked at the hills, his eyes very dark, but with a kind of light in them. After a few minutes, he began to sing, first in Irish and then, after a while, the same song in British. It was a strange song, and seemed to make a stillness about itself, almost frightening, though it was sweet and lovely.
“...The sheen of the sea you sail on,
The dazzling white of the sand
Extend in azure and saffron
As an airy and radiant land.
A sweeping plain for a countless host,
Where the colors glow into glory,
A fair stream of silver, plains of gold
Welcoming all to their bounty.
Along the leaves of a forest
Your curragh swims, and by hills
Where branches dip, fruit-laden
Where your prow is parting the swell
A wood shines with fruit and with flower
And the sweet wild scent of the vine,
Flawless, remote from death’s power,
Gold-branching beyond touch of time…”
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