Inside the stone shell steep tiers of seats rose out of the weed and turf, and we climbed about halfway to the top before Arthur sat down and settled the pup at our feet.
“Merlin says the Legionaires built this for holding military exercises,” Arthur said, gesturing around the stadium.
I stared at it uncertainly, wondering if humans could really make something so gigantic.
“Why is it so big?” I asked, feeling like a grain of cereal stuck on the side of an empty bowl.
“Because Chester was Legionary headquarters,” Bedivere chimed in. “And they probably held entertainments for the townspeople as well.”
“What kind of entertainment?”
“Most likely combat games: gladiators and bears and sometimes even lions. Merlin thinks that’s where the spotted cats came from.”
“Lions?” My attention had been snagged by the improbable thought. Cathbad had told the story of the Greek Hero God who killed a lion and wore its pelt for a cloak, but he had never mentioned there were lions in Britain.
I looked from Bedivere to Arthur, unsure if this was more teasing. Arthur saw my puzzlement and grinned.
“Well, no one’s seen a lion, but maybe a leopard. There are tales of a large cat somewhere on Anglesey. So far it hasn’t been tracked down, and the stories have grown bigger with each sighting. If there’s any truth to it, it may be a descendant of escapees from this very arena.”
The horsemen had gathered below us and our attention shifted to them, so I put aside the notion of the big cat and concentrated for the next hour on the maneuvers down below.
“What do you think?” Arthur asked Bedivere when it was over.
“The horses are fine, but if these are the troops Maelgwn’s been repulsing the Irish with, I think his victories come simply because the men are mounted, not because they’re well trained.”
“I’m sure that more can be done on horseback than we’ve seen here,” Arthur agreed. “Ever since I rode beside King Uther in my first battle I’ve been convinced that a crack cavalry force could hold off an entire army if necessary.”
“What you need,” I suggested, “is those long loops so the rider can get a foothold on the saddle.”
Arthur turned and looked at me so abruptly I wondered if I had just consigned myself to whatever passed for “the women’s quarters” in his court. Perhaps it was one thing to be an equal in social situations, and quite another to speak up about those areas which were the King’s own interest. There was neither scorn nor impatience in his expression, however, so I hurried on.
“I’ve seen how that can be done. Do you remember the boys we passed in Ribchester, Bedivere? The ones charging back and forth across the parade field?”
“Vaguely.” The lieutenant nodded.
“Well, I met one of them the next morning, and he showed me things that he could do on horseback that I’d never even thought of. They sew a long strip of leather across the saddle so that it hangs down on each side, and then make loops to slide their feet into. It not only helps to mount the horse, it also allows for all kinds of leverage once the rider’s seated. The boy was able to stand upright and put his whole weight on his feet. Or crouch down low over the horse’s withers and lean out and snatch things from the trough as he went by. I tell you, I’ve never seen such riding before…”
My voice trailed off as Arthur studied my face.
“Who is this boy?” he asked slowly.
“The innkeeper’s adopted son; I think his name was Palomides.”
The level gaze of his eyes never left mine, and I stared back at him with outer calm, refusing to look away in shyness or admit the confusion that was making me wish I’d kept my mouth shut.
“And you saw this yourself? He wasn’t just bragging up some tall tale to impress his new queen?”
“Oh, no, I saw it,” I assured him. “He thought I was a page and showed me what he could do when we were alone. I was planning on having those loops sewn on my own gear after we got south, but I hadn’t thought about using them in battle.”
Arthur exchanged a glance with Bedivere above my head, and suddenly let out a whoop of glee.
“Gwen, you may have just given us the solution that will make my cavalry a real military force! If it works, that is. Certainly it’s worth checking on. Bedivere, how is it that you missed such a thing?”
“Probably because I don’t get mistaken for a page boy,” his foster brother answered, and they both laughed heartily. I joined in then, relief enhancing my own high spirits.
When the exercises were over, Arthur suggested we take Caesar for a walk around the walls while Bedivere and Griflet went off to discuss horseflesh with Maelgwn. So the High King and I climbed the stairs by the gatehouse and strolled slowly along the parapet.
The fort’s walls are broadly built, with plenty of room for soldiers to fight along their tops, and the view over the surrounding country was spectacular. We stood looking out to the east, in a corner where the remains of a large machine lay in a heap.
“I think it was a catapult,” Arthur said, scowling at the debris. “I’ve asked Merlin to take a look at it and decide if we can restore it. Maelgwn’s line has kept the whole of North Wales stable since your ancestors drove the Irish out, but now that the Cumbri have given me the use of this fort, I want to make sure it can protect the vulnerable Cheshire area.”
He gestured out over the pastoral landscape. The farmers’ clearings had a peaceful, well-kept look all the way to the north where the dark shadow of Wirral’s woods lay.
“I’m counting on Maelgwn’s loyalty, as much through kinship with you as through his own honor,” Arthur went on. “Certainly the last thing I want is a rear action here when the Saxons are threatening in the south and east.”
I thought about my father’s warning that Maelgwn would make an unsteady ally, and started to mention it to Arthur, but he and Caesar were already striding along the wall, so I hurried after them.
“Beyond there,” he called over his shoulder as he pointed toward a tower of clouds, “are the peaks of Snowdon. All those giant mountains, filled with green valleys and bright streams! The people here are a wonderful lot, proud and independent and willing to fight to stay that way. Merlin says they never gave in to Rome. I have no fear as to their loyalty; the men of the mountains are always able allies when they see you don’t intend to yoke them.”
I turned and looked toward the heart of Wales, remembering Nonny’s tales of caves and dragons and the great gods who lived with eagles amid the craggy peaks.
“It’s crucial that the Cumbri realize I have no interest in imposing my will over them; without their cooperation I can achieve nothing,” Arthur was saying. “And with them, we shall do wonders. As long as they can keep the Irish from my flank, I’ll be able to concentrate on the Saxons.”
He paused then and waited for me, a full grin erasing the serious tone of kingship. “Come—there’s a lovely spot up ahead.”
We stood together in silence at the next corner, looking down on the island of Roodee. It is a sweet, flat meadow cradled in the arms of the river, and the racetrack around its edge is hard-packed from generations of use. There are clumps of willows along the far side and it seemed an ideal spot for a sporting event.
Already the horsemen were gathering, comparing notes and eyeing one another’s stock with appreciation and competitive interest. The nobles were decked out in their brightest colors, and here and there a pennant waved in the breeze. It made a wonderfully festive sight.
Arthur and I lingered on the ramparts, playing with the pup and discussing the best points of the animals we could see down below. There were Welsh Mountain Ponies, very like Featherfoot, and I was pointing out the similarities between her and a white mare who had an undeniable grace.
“How is it that you come to know so much about horses?” Arthur inquired as we leaned against the parapet wall.
“Luck, in part. Our Master of the Horse had no family of his own, so I g
uess he became my second father. I spent lots of my childhood with him, anyhow. And then, of course, my mother was a fine horsewoman, raised in North Wales and proud of being Cunedda’s great-granddaughter.”
“Ah, yes, the women of Cunedda’s line,” Arthur said softly. “The Queen Mother, Igraine, is a descendant of Cunedda too, although from the southern branch.”
He was silent for a bit, and I wondered what he felt about the lady who had birthed him but never raised him. As tactfully as possible, I inquired as to what she was like.
“She seems to be a proud, honorable woman, and the people must think well of her or they would not have accepted me as her son.” His voice had gone stiff and remote, and for a moment there was a look of uncertainty about him. “I know her very little, and doubt that will change in the future. She’s not well, and lives apart from the court.
“Now, my foster mother, Drusilla, is another matter entirely,” he added, enthusiasm making his voice lively again. “She was as warm and hearty and Celtic as they come, for all her Roman name. She died about two years back, taken by the stone. But at least she lived long enough to see her fosterling crowned King of Britain.”
It was the first time Arthur had personally referred to his kingship and there was no arrogance in his tone, only the pleasure of having brought honor to his foster mother.
When the sun reached mid-heaven we left our perch and ambled slowly toward the Bridge gate.
Here the Road known as Watling Street led through a ford of the river, then headed out to the south. A wooden bridge spanned the broad water just below the weir which glimmered silver with salmon, and a score of fishermen’s huts clung to the willow bank on the far shore. Beyond the trees lay the scar of a quarry, and I thought I could make out a figure carved in the rock.
“Minerva’s shrine,” Arthur said. “Whenever the soldiers marched out of here, they saluted the War Goddess in a kind of farewell. It’s said she is looking not just at the fort, but at the highest point the tide reaches. Have you ever noticed,” he asked, “that the Romans placed their river cities just above the tide’s turning, so they could use it for shipping without quite risking regular floods? Remarkable engineers…”
I stared down on the river view and wondered if Arthur ever just relaxed and enjoyed the moment. It would have been nice to stand and watch the fishermen netting salmon in the water below while their wives filleted the catch and hung the meat on racks to dry. But Arthur and the pup had started down the stairs already, intent on the horse races at Roodee, so I sighed and ran after them.
Dinner that night was a fine festive occasion, without the ceremony of the previous night’s presentation but full of good nature and much banter. Arthur and Bedivere were very well pleased with the arrangements they’d made among the horse owners that afternoon, and on the other side of Vinnie, Maelgwn was boasting about the fine tableware he’d recently purchased. His court at Degannwyn was famous for its elegance, and though the man himself was known to be a boor, his wealth was recognized in all the Mediterranean trade centers.
“You must encourage your lady to visit the ancestral home,” he purred. “I’ll make sure we spread a fine table for you both.”
My governess’ cherubic face radiated pure pleasure at the prospect of so much luxury. Maelgwn caught my eye now and smiled pleasantly, so I gave him a civil nod in return. I noted that his wife was still absent, however.
Merlin joined us when the meal was over and Arthur and Bedivere drew the Sorcerer into reminiscences of their days together in Sir Ector’s court. The Magician’s visage brightened with affection as he looked back and forth between the two fosterlings, and occasionally Bedivere would fill me in on some reference I had no way of knowing. It was fascinating to see the Wizard’s cold and haughty reserve put aside in the presence of his two protégés.
“Did Bedivere tell you about the horsemen in Ribchester?” Arthur asked suddenly, and when Merlin shook his head, the High King reached over and put an arm around my shoulder, including me physically as well as mentally in the circle of attention.
“Gwen says there are lads up there who have developed a new form of tack,” he said, and then went on to describe the change in gear.
Merlin nodded thoughtfully and suggested that Palomides should be invited to give a demonstration of his skill.
“I’d been thinking the same thing,” Arthur agreed, “for I’d like to start training my cavalry as fast as possible.”
Arthur’s hand still rested casually around my shoulder, and as I leaned forward to follow the conversation on the other side of him, I found myself moving closer within the crook of his arm. It seemed such a natural place to be, I was surprised that my heart was beating so fast.
Bedivere volunteered to go back north and invite Palomides to join us, and at the same time swing by Angus’ steading to get a mate for Caesar.
“But we’ll have to find a Celtic name for the bitch,” Arthur said blithely, “lest we be accused of being ‘too Roman.’” A quick roguish smile tugged at one corner of his mouth, and his sidewise glance touched me just briefly. I caught my breath, struck by a soft buffet of surprise. Somehow he’d turned my fears into an kind of intimate jest just between the two of us.
I blushed and looked down at my lap, very much aware of the shivers that ran down my spine. I wanted nothing so much as to close that half-embrace, but instead sat staring at the table, caught in the tension of desire and immobility. Arthur gave me a gentle, good-natured squeeze and dropped his hand.
Bedivere was saying he’d like to take Griflet with him, to help transport the mate for Caesar. “After all,” he commented wryly, “it’s one thing to invite this young horseman to join the High King, and it’s quite another to ask him to play nursemaid to a barely weaned puppy.”
So Griflet was called to our table, and on hearing the plan announced he would be delighted to accompany Bedivere on a mission to procure a second wolfhound for the court.
The excitement within me refused to subside, and though I listened to the details being worked out, all I could think of was Arthur’s walking me home later in the evening. I watched him softly, wondering if he felt the same desire I did; from his outward behavior there was no way of knowing, and I thought how practiced royalty become at covering their own emotions.
“May I see the ladies home, M’lord?” Maelgwn’s voice sliced between us at the end of the evening. “In a short time you will spend every night in my cousin’s company, but on this eve of her departure I would like to bid her farewell from the family.”
I looked quickly at Arthur, hoping he would assert his right to escort me to the convent himself, but he was smiling politely at the client king.
“That sounds fair enough,” he said pleasantly, and turned to me with some comment about an early departure. There was no sign that he was as disappointed as I, and I had no way to tell him now how little I relished my cousin’s companionship, so I bade him a formal good night and slipped into my cloak.
Maelgwn took my arm as we made our way through the dark streets, and I set a pretty pace in order to get the encounter over with as soon as possible. Brigit and Lavinia scrambled to keep up, and by the time we reached the nunnery everyone was out of breath.
A young novice answered our knock, no doubt relieved that the guests were finally home and she could go to bed.
“Your lady will be joining you in a minute,” Maelgwn said, turning to Lavinia. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Madame. My cousin is lucky to have so wise a matron to guide her in the first difficult days at a new court.”
Vinnie simpered at the obvious flattery, her plump face dimpling. Then the girl was guiding my companions across the courtyard, taking the torch with her, and Maelgwn tightened his grip on my arm and pulled me back into the shadow of the gate’s arch.
“Well, young lady,” he said sharply, “you seem to have netted yourself a fine fancy husband after all. I can’t say I wouldn’t rather have you here.”
He
had me cornered against the wall and was leaning so close I could feel his breath on my skin.
“Such a pity to see a ripe young creature fall unknowing into the arms of a hot-blooded young man. Surely he won’t initiate you as carefully as a seasoned lover would. I could meet you in half an hour by the little gate that’s hidden in the corner of the back wall,” he added, running the back of his hand along my jaw.
“Get your hands off me,” I hissed, not wanting to cause a disturbance but unwilling to tolerate his touch.
“Is that any way to treat a cousin?” he asked, sliding his other arm around my waist and trying to pull me to him.
I struck him without thinking, as hard and fast as I could, the flat of my palm crashing against the bones of his cheek.
For a moment I thought he would strike me back, and I glared at him in fury and revulsion as the force of the blow began to register in my hand.
“Let go of me,” I ordered, “or I shall tell Arthur of your behavior!”
He dropped his arms to his sides and took a step back.
“You’ll not always be protected by your new station, M’lady,” he rasped, his voice cold with anger.
A hot retort rose to my tongue, but I bit my lip and kept it to myself. I had faced him down for the moment, and wanted to make my escape while the opportunity was still at hand. So I turned away from him and swept through the gate with all the dignity I could muster just as the novice returned with her torch.
Once within her sight I paused and, extending my hand to Maelgwn, said flatly, “It’s been an interesting visit, cousin, and one that will be long remembered.”
“I hope so,” he answered in the careful tones of a public figure under scrutiny. He barely touched my hand. “Good night, M’lady, and may your sleep be untroubled.”
I nodded and turned away, hoping the girl had not seen the bruise forming on his cheek. She trotted sleepily along beside me and gave no indication of having observed anything but the formal behavior of two nobles, so I composed myself and pretended nothing was wrong.
Child of the Northern Spring (Guinevere Trilogy) Page 30