Of Men and Dragons (The Lion of Wales Book 3)

by Sarah Woodbury

Three men came through the curtain, Llywelyn in the lead. He lit the way with a lantern, which threw shadows on the wall that separated the nave from the foyer. Because they spoke among themselves, distracted by their own issues, the three men were almost upon Gareth before Llywelyn halted abruptly.

  “You!”

  “Cousin. I thought I’d find you here among your betters.” Gareth nodded his head at Cai, who stepped out from behind Llywelyn.

  “What do you want?” Llywelyn said.

  “I knew you had to be up to something,” Gareth said. “And now I know what it is.”

  “Just kill him,” the third man said. Myrddin didn’t recognize either his voice or his shape. Nor did he dare stir from behind his statue to get a better look.

  “Ahh,” Gareth said. “My dear Agravaine.” And Myrddin understood that Gareth said the man’s name for his benefit. “You’re the secret they’ve been keeping. King Arthur might rationalize a meeting with my slippery cousin, but you—you he wouldn’t forgive.”

  “Which is why we need to kill him,” Agravaine said.

  Gareth spread his arms wide. “Go ahead. I suspect the consequences might be greater than you know.” Myrddin’s hand went to his sword, his stomach churning and his head spinning with shock. If he’d expected anything, it wasn’t this.

  Agravaine made to step forward, but Cai put out an arm to stop him. “He’s Modred’s. You can’t touch him.”

  “You tell me false!” Agravaine’s tone dripped with disdain and outrage. “He can’t be.”

  “He was spying for Modred as early as 532,” Cai said. “I know because I was at Modred’s court then.”

  “Why didn’t I know of this?”

  “Perhaps because you don’t know everything! Be quiet and let me think.” A pause, and then Cai spoke again, directing his words at Gareth, who was the only man he appeared to view as more-or-less an equal. “What do you want?”

  “Assurances,” Gareth said.

  “Don’t listen to h—” Llywelyn said.

  Cai cut him off. “Shut up, monk.” And then to Gareth. “You have them. What is your concern? That Modred won’t like what we do?”

  “More that you’ll muck it up, just like the attack on Garth Celyn,” Gareth said.

  “That was Owain’s plan,” Cai said. “He’s always been long on ideas and short on follow through.”

  Llywelyn sneered. “It would have worked but for this Myrddin. I told you we should’ve removed him sooner.”

  “He’ll be taken care of before too long,” Cai said. “Agravaine has it in hand.”

  “Good to know as Myrddin’s a nosy bastard,” Gareth said.

  “Are we done here? I have a boat to catch.” Dismissing his fellows with a wave, Agravaine strode towards the exit and flung open the door. The cold night air blew over Myrddin, and he heard the staccato of rain on the slate roof of the church.

  Llywelyn and Cai followed, though Cai paused on the doorstep in order to direct a few last words to Gareth. “We’ll speak later.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  The door swung home, leaving the foyer completely silent but for the drip of water from the roof. Myrddin was loath to rise from his hiding place lest they return—and even more reluctant to face Gareth.

  “You heard some things I would have preferred you hadn’t,” Gareth said, into the quiet.

  “Does King Arthur know your role in this?” Myrddin finally stood and stepped from behind the statue.

  “He knows Modred thinks I spy for him,” Gareth said. “He doesn’t know that I once truly did.”

  “Am I to believe you remain loyal to King Arthur now? After what I heard?”

  “It’s the truth.”

  Myrddin contemplated Gareth’s face. He seemed sincere, but Myrddin felt manipulated. “Admittedly, you could have come alone and confronted them without me. It would have been safer for you.”

  “But not safer for the king,” Gareth said. “Knowing that Cai and Agravaine are allies, I cannot now believe that he should go south. They may well be using Edgar for their own ends. You should know, in addition, that Modred confirmed Edgar in his inheritance a few days ago.”

  “Cnych!” Myrddin said.

  “I share your sentiments,” Gareth said. “I brought you as witness because I found what I was looking for, but I am not in a position to speak to the king of the dangers that face him in the coming weeks.”

  Myrddin stared at him. “What? Why ever not?”

  “I play a dangerous game, Myrddin,” he said. “Modred trusts me; Cai trusts me. So does my king. Few could have played this role so well for so long. But if I speak to King Arthur of Cai’s betrayal, I throw all to the fates.”

  “You’re afraid,” Myrddin said.

  “Cautious,” Gareth said. “What if Cai discovers I’ve deceived him? I will have lost all ability to serve Arthur effectively.”

  “So you leave it to me?”

  Gareth waved a hand dismissively. “You’re one of his household knights. Your loyalty is without question. He will listen to you.”

  “I pray you’re right.”

  Chapter Four

  28 November 537 AD

  “He threw me out of his office, Nell.” Myrddin paced around the work table in the center of her herb hut. He and Gareth had ridden home, and Myrddin had gone straight to Arthur, leaving Gareth drinking in the hall as if nothing untoward had happened.

  Myrddin’s subsequent conversation with King Arthur had been short, lasting only as long as it took for Myrddin to explain what he’d seen. Arthur had shouted Myrddin down before the words were half out of his mouth. Even Geraint, who was witness, was taken aback by Arthur’s rare display of temper.

  “Sit, Myrddin,” Nell said, “before you upset all my tinctures and salves. Besides, it’s very late. You’d do better to sleep than think.”

  Myrddin sat but was on his feet again an instant later, too restless to stay still. “He and I have always maintained a good relationship, and now he thinks I’m a traitor.”

  “Tell me what happened again.”

  “I told him that Cai, Llywelyn, and Agravaine had met in the belfry at Bangor. I told him that I believed the letter from Edgar a trap and asked if I could go in his stead or, as an alternative, travel south to Brecon as Lord Cedric suggested. Arthur ignored my request, instead asking if I knew what the meeting had been about. I told him I didn’t know. He asked if I’d actually seen Agravaine’s face. I hadn’t, and since I couldn’t reveal Gareth’s role in all this, the king instantly disbelieved my whole story. He didn’t want to believe it.

  “And then Cai came into the office, that incessant sneer on his face, before he wiped it clean and denied everything.”

  Nell moved to stand beside him, her hand on his shoulder. “The king loves his brother, all reason aside. And without Gareth, you have no proof. This isn’t your fault.”

  Myrddin grunted his disagreement and disgust, moving towards the brazier to raise the fire. When he’d left the hut earlier, he’d banked the coals so they’d continue to burn low, but he’d been gone so long they were almost out. Soon, Myrddin had the coals glowing again. The hut was small enough that the heat from it would make some headway against the cold.

  The activity calmed him, and he found his shoulders sagging with his acceptance of his failure. “I must return to the hall and speak to Geraint. I cannot leave it there.”

  Now it was Nell’s turn to pace, and she circled her table. The light glinted off the blonde highlights in the wisps of hair that escaped her coif. Myrddin had never noticed them before; he knew he’d never seen anyone as beautiful as she. He’d lost track of his sensible decision to keep her at arm’s length. It sucked the air from his lungs to realize how much she still kept inside her own head. He could only hope that she, too, loved despite herself.

  At last she stopped in front of him. “Tell Geraint everything.”

  He studied her face. “Everything?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I�
��ll come with you if you think it will help.”

  “Not yet. Let me try again alone first.” He moved away, ready to leave and glad to have the decision made. But Nell caught his arm before he’d gone two steps.

  “What you did was very brave.”

  “It had to be done.” He turned back to her. “Time is too short to waste.” He started to pull away but she didn’t let him go, tugging him closer and forcing him to focus on her again.

  “You be careful,” she said. “I told you the only way to prevent myself from weeping was to laugh, but I can’t face the coming weeks with laughter.”

  He looked down at her, seeing the concern in her eyes. “I lived thirty-six years with nobody to worry about me. I can take care of myself.”

  “I know.” She stepped closer, placing her hands flat against his chest. “And is that what you want?”

  Myrddin didn’t look away. His hands found her waist and rested there, one on each hip. He looked into her eyes. “I’ve never had a choice before.” He leaned forward and kissed Nell’s forehead, his lips lingering in her hair.

  “I shouldn’t have let you go into battle without an answer,” she said.

  Their faces were inches apart, hers upturned looking into his. Time and silence stretched out as Myrddin stared down at her. Then without a conscious decision on his part, he brought his lips down on hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and he pulled her tight against him.

  “God, Nell.” He forced himself to take a breath. “I don’t want to lose you.”

  “You won’t,” she said. “No matter what happens, you won’t.”

  His arms encircled her. He didn’t want to let her go, but knew he had to. He groaned, his forehead to hers, and his desire for her a deep ache within him. “I must see Geraint.” He eased away.

  “I know that too.” She allowed him to lift her hands from his chest. He squeezed them once, and then left the hut, heading down the garden walkway to the kitchen, his mind full of Nell.

  Halfway there, Geraint stepped out of the darkness. “What is it that you cannot leave?”

  Myrddin pulled up short.

  “The king leaves for Powys in three days. I must know what it is you aren’t telling me.” Geraint’s tone was forceful, but not menacing. Urgent, rather.

  “Over here.” Myrddin glanced around to make sure that nobody had followed him and that Nell had shut the door to the herb hut. It wasn’t so much that he didn’t want her to overhear their conversation, but rather he didn’t want her to suffer for his failings if this went as awry as the conversation in Arthur’s office.

  “Speak,” Geraint said, once they’d retreated to the far corner of the kitchen garden where the side of the keep met the garden wall.

  “If you’re worried that Modred turned me to his side in his dungeon at Rhuddlan,” Myrddin said, “that is not the case.”

  “I have no such concern,” Geraint said. “If you’d been bought, there’d be signs.”

  The compulsion to tell the truth had Myrddin pressing his lips together to keep the words back. And then, for better or worse, he gave up the fight. “I fear for the king’s life because I already know the future. I know what will happen by the Cam River if he goes to meet Edgar of Wigmore.”

  Geraint stared at him. “What in Christ’s holy name is that supposed to mean?”

  “I’ve seen it,” Myrddin said. “I’ve seen him fall, stood over his body to protect him, and fallen myself. I’ve seen all Wales weep.”

  In the darkness, Myrddin couldn’t read Geraint’s expression, but he stood so still that if not for the light coming through the open kitchen door he would have been indistinguishable from the wall at his back. The scar that slashed across his forehead stood out white against his darker skin.

  “No.” Geraint shook his head. “You can’t know what you’re saying.”

  Myrddin stepped away, rethinking his approach. “Come, my lord. A cup of wine wouldn’t go amiss.”

  Geraint hesitated, and then nodded. They returned to the hall, Geraint walking several paces behind Myrddin. By the time Geraint lowered himself onto a bench near the fire, a cup and carafe in front of him and Myrddin settled across the table, his intensity had lessened. He took a swig and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “Let’s try this again.” A twinkle appeared in Geraint’s eye that told Myrddin he didn’t believe a word he’d said, and for that, Myrddin was almost grateful. Geraint might treat him like a lunatic from now on, but not so much that he’d hang him as a traitor. “I’d like to hear the rest.”

  Geraint’s expression was such as a man might wear when he was settling in to hear a bard’s tale of how Gwydion, son of Dôn, brought pigs to Math ap Mathonwy when he ruled Gwynedd as its king, or how Gwydion and Math conspired to make a wife for Gwydion’s nephew out of flowers. They were stories that he didn’t believe but, at the same time, thought might provide good entertainment for an evening.

  Myrddin folded his hands around his cup, took a sip, and set it on the table in front of him. “On the 11th of December, King Arthur will go to St. Cannen’s church at the request of Edgar. It is a trap, as I told you before, and he and the eighteen men of his personal guard will die. The Saxons will remove King Arthur’s head and send it to Modred.”

  “And you know this how?”

  “Since I was a boy, I’ve dreamt it. I have fought and died for our king more times than I can count—always at the church by the Cam River; always straddling the fallen body of the king. Lately, I’ve had the visions even while awake.”

  “So you’re what? A saint? A seer? A wizard?” Geraint’s amusement of before was gone.

  Myrddin leaned forward across the table, determined to defuse Geraint’s skepticism before it turned to anger if he could. “This is me, Geraint. Myrddin. I’ve ridden with the king for twenty years, and I tell you I’ve seen it. I’ve lived it. This is what is coming, and it has haunted me my whole life!”

  “And you’ve kept these visions hidden all this time?” Geraint said, mocking. “I’m the first to know?”

  “If this is your response, is it any wonder I’ve told no one?” Myrddin said. “Look what happened when I tried to tell the king about something I saw with my own eyes! I only tell you now because we are so close to the end.”

  Geraint rubbed his chin with one hand. “All right. Say I believe you. What do you propose?”

  “It’s as if I’ve had a path laid before my feet—like footsteps in the snow—that I’ve followed time and again to my death. I refuse to follow that path any longer. We must forge a new one.”

  Geraint leaned back in his chair, ran his fingers through his hair, and then scrubbed his face with both hands. “Christ, Myrddin.” He dropped his hands to rest them helplessly in his lap. “I don’t want to know this. I don’t want to hear this.”

  “I know,” Myrddin said. “As long as you protect the king, I don’t care if you believe me, but you mustn’t stop me from doing whatever I can to help him and Wales.”

  “I will protect the king,” Geraint said, “but perhaps it would be best if you do as you suggested and ride south to Brecon and Buellt.”

  “So I don’t embarrass you with my delusions?” Myrddin said.

  Geraint looked straight at Myrddin, meeting his eyes, his jaw set. “No. That’s not it at all. You must ride south so that what you describe never comes to pass.”

  * * * * *

  “I need you to get up, Huw,” Nell said.

  Huw rolled over, and his eyes met hers. Instantly, he was awake and attentive. “What’s wrong? Father—”

  “Myrddin’s fine. He’s getting the horses. I’ll tell you on the way.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Brecon. And Buellt after that if we have time.”

  Nell was already moving away. Huw, fortunately, had slept close to the door and had been easy to find. The other men were used to Nell by now and nobody else, even if awake, had stirred to stop her.

&
nbsp; Huw caught up with her by the time she reached the door, shrugging into his coat and cloak. “I’ll need my armor.” He slept with his sword, as befitting a newly dubbed knight.

  “Your father has it,” she said. They left the barracks and trotted across the courtyard towards the stables.

  “And you’re coming with us?” Huw said.

  Nell glanced up at Huw. “Yes. Don’t you dare take Myrddin’s side in this!”

  “He’s trying to stop you,” Huw said, not as a question.

  “Of course he is, but he’s wrong to. I can help. I’ve cobbled together a nun’s habit. If I wear it as we travel, it will provide an adequate ruse for our journey.”

  Huw pursed his lips in thought. “That’s a good idea, actually.” They turned into the stables and came to a halt in front of the horses. Myrddin was adjusting the stirrups on the last.

  “No it isn’t.” Myrddin straightened and glowered in Nell’s direction.

  Nell whirled on him, finger pointing. “You don’t get to decide this! I already cleared it with Geraint.”

  They glared at each other for a count of five, and then Myrddin gave way. “I don’t like it.”

  “I know you don’t,” Nell said. “But you won’t regret it.”

  Regardless of his doubts, Myrddin had saddled three horses, not two, one for each of them. As she grabbed the bridle of her horse and prepared to mount, Nell smiled inwardly, not so much at his capitulation or that she’d won, but because he respected her enough to bring her even when every fiber in him protested.

  “Jesus Christ!”

  Nell had half-pulled herself into the saddle when the curse came from behind her. She swung around to see Myrddin, his hands up and helpless, with Deiniol behind him pressing a knife to Myrddin’s throat.

  “Well, well. You’re leaving Garth Celyn in the wee hours, mochyn? Have I caught myself a traitor?”

  “You would know far more about that than we would!” Nell took a step towards the pair but arrested her movement as Deiniol tightened his grip on Myrddin’s hair. The knife pressed far enough into Myrddin’s skin to draw blood.

  “Stay back, love.” Myrddin had placed his hand on the hilt of his sword, but could do nothing more than that. Huw had moved beside her but was helpless as she, staring at Deiniol and Myrddin.