“Thank you again, Merlin. I trust you will help her. I am in your debt.”
“My father considered you to be his greatest ally, Gorlois. Through him, my debt is greater. You owe me nothing. Go back to your wife. I will be there soon.”
The door shut. The silence extended for long heartbeats.
“You could have spoken then, and exposed me,” Merlin said. “If you are a man of conscience, as you say, then why did you remain silent?” He did not sound angry, merely curious.
Steffan gripped his staff. “Your talk of the future…of the one light in the darkness…” He sighed. “You made me doubt.”
“That is a good thing,” Merlin assured him. “When you question what you believe about something, you find new wisdom.”
“I was not yet finished with the old,” Steffan muttered.
Merlin’s laughter was deep and long.
Chapter Twenty
Jenny, one of Igraine’s youngest companions, came to the room where Anwen was reading to Morgan and Morguase. “The Lady wants you,” Jenny said, with a sniff of disdain.
“She is awake, then?” Anwen asked, letting the book roll up.
“Is Mother well again?” Morguase asked.
“Well enough to dispense orders everywhere,” Jenny said.
Anwen glared at her. Jenny’s bluntness would bother the girls.
Jenny stared back.
Anwen got to her feet. “Stay here with Morgan and Morguase,” she told Jenny. “I’ll find Elen and send her back.”
Igraine’s antechamber was full of people, which startled Anwen and made her pause inside the door. Most of the women standing in the room, whispering together, were Igraine’s companions. A tall figure in black stood in the far corner, whom Anwen recognized. Prince Merlin.
He appeared to be waiting. When Anwen glanced at him, though, his gaze was steady upon her. He watched her?
Anwen cleared her throat and tugged her gown into position, then moved around the clusters of women to the inner door. She tapped and pushed it open, then stepped inside and shut it again.
The room was empty of anyone but Igraine. Igraine laid upon pillows. Her eyes opened the moment the door shut. She sat up. “You must stay here with me, Anwen.”
Anwen moved closer to the door. “Merlin waits outside the door!” She kept her voice soft.
“That is why I sent for you.” Igraine glanced at the door, her expression nervous. “Gorlois sent for him to examine me, so I may be well enough for tomorrow.”
Anwen pushed on her shoulder. “Then you had best appear ill, my lady. Lie down.”
Igraine settled on the pillows once more. Anwen considered her. She looked far too healthy. Perhaps the mention of a woman’s concerns would be enough to deflect the wizard.
Anwen went to the door and opened it. “Prince Merlin?” she called.
The tall man moved passed her and over to the bed and stood looking down at Igraine, who had her eyes closed once more.
Anwen shut the door and moved to the foot of the big bed.
“You may stop pretending now, Igraine,” Merlin said.
Igraine opened her eyes. “How did you know?”
Merlin stepped back a pace, giving her room. “It was easy enough to guess what ails you, given last night’s supper.”
Igraine sat and arranged the covers over her knees. “If you guessed that much, then why did you come? There is no treatment you can prescribe which will cure what ails me.”
Merlin glanced at Anwen, measuring her with his gaze. Apparently, he approved of what he saw, for he shifted his attention back to Igraine. “Indirectly, I am here because Uther sent me.”
Anwen drew in a long breath, riding out her shock. It was not her place to say anything.
Igraine’s eyes opened. “Uther sent you?”
Merlin’s eyes narrowed. “Your husband asked me to attend you and I welcomed the chance to speak with you.” He gave a harsh smile. “The city talks of nothing but the King’s attention toward you. No one breathes a word of your wrong-doing in this. They speak only of your piety and your devotion to your husband and Cornwall. I came to see for myself if this is true.”
Igraine dropped her gaze to the furs over her knees. “I don’t understand what you are asking me.”
Merlin considered her for a long moment. “You have played a careful game, Igraine, only now it is time to dispense with the masks. I cannot help you if I do not have your full measure. Tell me. Is Uther’s certainty that you are not indifferent to him true?”
Igraine lifted her chin to look Merlin in the eye. She was a woman sitting in her bedchamber, while a prince stood over her, yet it might have been Igraine who was the royal one. Despite the slash of high color in her cheeks, her expression was haughty.
Merlin nodded. “Then we understand one another,” he murmured. “It leaves just one more question.” He hesitated. “If a way existed for you and Uther to be together, would you take it, Igraine?”
Anwen stared at the tall man, her horror building.
Igraine did not answer at once. The color remained in her cheeks as she spoke. “If no harm came to my husband or my children…indeed, if no harm came to Cornwall or Britain through such an indulgence then…perhaps…yes.”
Merlin nodded briskly. “Then I will help you in this.”
Igraine’s eyes narrowed. “Why would you? I mean…forgive me, Prince Merlin. Everyone knows how little you and Uther like each other. Why would you help him in such an endeavor?”
“For reasons beyond your ken,” he said, his tone short. “Now I am certain of your thoughts, I will make arrangements. You will have your part to play in this, too. Your woman, there—you trust her?”
Anwen jumped, for Merlin’s gaze was upon her once more.
“I do,” Igraine said, her tone chilly. Merlin’s peremptory tone did not sit well with her.
“Good. Do not let her leave your side until you return to Tintagel. Your appearance in public must be chaperoned at every moment. You must appear completely blameless.”
“Return…?” Igraine said, startled. “We just arrived. If we miss the coronation—”
Merlin raised his hand, cutting her off. “Tell me about Tintagel. They say it cannot be taken by anyone. Is that true? There is not a single weakness to the fortress? No way to breach its walls? No way, say, for a loving husband to creep back into the fortress at night so he may visit his wife without the household laughing about his domestic devotion?”
Igraine didn’t drop her gaze, yet her cheeks grew even warmer. “How did you know?”
Anwen stared at Igraine, astonished.
Merlin smiled. “When men sit about campfires at night and drink heavily, a great deal can be surmised from the stories they tell each other. The nightly absence of a leader, the happiness of his wife…”
Igraine smoothed the furs with her fingers. “There is a postern gate, on the seaward side of the tower. The way there is treacherous, yet manageable if the wind is not too high.”
“And the stairs inside the gate lead directly to your chamber,” Merlin finished.
Igraine nodded again.
Anwen had lived at Tintagel nearly all her life and had never once heard even a whisper of such an entrance. If one existed, then it would be a highly guarded secret, for it was a weakness in the fortress’s impregnable defenses. Yet Igraine was sharing the secret willingly.
“There is a guard house, halfway up the stairs,” Igraine added.
“Manned?” Merlin asked.
“Every night,” Igraine said.
“I will take care of that,” he said dismissively, his eyes narrowed. “What you must do is attend the coronation tomorrow. Stay at your husband’s side and keep your eyes downcast as you have been doing. Afterward…” He paused once more. “Your wellbeing is important to Gorlois. You must tell him you are ill with the pressure the King is putting upon you with his public foolishness. Tell Gorlois you want to return to Cornwall at once, even before the
feast. Use whatever charms you have, of which I am sure you have many—only you must convince Gorlois to leave immediately.”
Igraine frowned. “To leave before the feast…the King will consider it an insult. He will be angry.”
“He will appear to be angry, yes. The important thing is that he cannot slight his other guests by riding after you. He must stay for the feast and the formalities the next day, too. Until his guests have left, Uther must remain here in Venta Belgarum. In that time, you and your household will be installed in Tintagel. Gorlois will assemble troops in Dimilioc for the descent of the King upon Cornwall.”
“I see,” Igraine said slowly. “It will avoid violence upon the road.”
“If you play your part, then it will avoid violence altogether,” Merlin said. “For Uther will ride fast and arrive in Cornwall as his troops do and at least a day earlier than anyone might expect. The night before his troops should attack Dimilioc…” He paused. “That is the night he will come to you.”
Anwen pressed her fist to her belly, which churned with illness. She could not speak, not while Merlin was in the room, only she didn’t think she could speak right now.
Merlin straightened. “I will provide more detail once I have completed my plans. Do you read, madam?”
“No,” Igraine replied. “Anwen does, though.”
Merlin’s gaze drilled into her. “Very well. Any letters you receive with the Pendragon seal you must make sure only Anwen opens.”
Igraine held up a hand. “Swear to me, Merlin, that no harm will come to my family, that no lasting harm will be delivered upon Cornwall for this?”
Merlin’s expression was impatient. “The High King himself has a stake in this and Uther is not a hypocrite. He will not smite Cornwall with one hand while taking its Duchess with the other.”
“You have seen this?” Igraine insisted, keeping her chin high.
“I do not see the fate of every human upon this earth.”
“You have seen mine?”
Merlin hesitated. “I have seen a child come from this union.”
Igraine’s expression softened. Her mouth curved up. “A child…!”
Merlin turned from the bed. “I will write,” he said and strode to the door. Anwen jumped to open it for him and he nodded at her. “Do you read Latin?” he asked in a quiet tone.
“I do.”
“Good. A further layer of security.” He walked out of the chamber and moved through the ladies in the antechamber as if they were not there. Everyone stepped aside for him.
Anwen closed the door and turned to Igraine. “My lady, you cannot do this!”
Igraine threw the covers aside and leapt to her feet. “Why should I not? The High King himself wants me, Anwen. If nothing comes of this but a single child, then why not?”
“Because it is wrong, my lady.” Anwen wrung her hands. “What of your husband? Your vows to him? Your church says they are inviolate.”
Igraine frowned. Her lips pressed together. She moved over to the window and looked out upon Venta Belgarum, standing far enough away that no one would see her at the window. “I was seventeen when I married Gorlois. He was thirty-seven. I was in awe of him and he treated me gently, so I thought myself in love with him. I suppose, in a way, I did grow to love him.” She sighed. “He is a good man. A kind man and a great leader. Yet, when I first saw Uther…” Igraine glanced at Anwen. Her eyes were filled with fiery energy. “I heard all the stories about Ambrosius’ brother, the great war master. About his temper and ferocity, about his abilities as a fighter and leader of warriors. Who has not?”
Anwen nodded, for she had heard all the stories, too.
Igraine shook her head. “When I first saw Uther in Amesbury, he was not standing upon a tier, with heralds and banners and trumpets. He was an ordinary man, standing among ordinary men. Yet when his gaze met mine…” Igraine pressed her hand to her chest. “It made me realize Gorlois was merely the silvered, cold light of the moon. Uther is the sun. A blazing, bright sun which blinds one if they look too long.” She turned, her gaze steady. “I cannot live without the sun.”
Anwen shivered.
Igraine moved back to the bed and sat upon it. “I need food, Anwen. I cannot ask for it, not if I am to appear ill for the rest of the day. Go and beg some bread from the kitchen and bring it to me.”
“Yes, my lady,” Anwen said. She moved to the door, her heart pattering unsteadily.
“Some wine, too!” Igraine called.
Anwen shut the door and fled.
Chapter Twenty-One
The gate guards would not let Anwen into the fortress proper. They made her wait in the blockhouse while a message was sent. She perched upon the cold stone shelf, shivering, for there were no biers or fire pits in the blockhouse.
It seemed as if hours passed before she heard the sound she had been waiting for—the tap of a staff upon stone. Then his voice.
“I’m told someone wishes to speak to me?” Steffan murmured.
“In here, sir,” the guard said.
Anwen got to her feet, her heart picking up speed.
Steffan’s shadow filled the doorway. Then he moved into view and turned into the room, the staff swinging. Three steps, then he paused, his chin lifting.
Anwen opened her mouth to speak, to let him know she was there.
“Anwen?” he said, sounding startled.
Her lips parted in surprise. “Yes. I am here.” She moved closer to him. “Do you know what Uther plans, Steffan? Do you?”
Steffan tilted his head. “Wait,” he said softly. “There are too many people here and too many doors to listen at. Come with me.” He held out his hand.
Anwen hesitated. Then she slid her hand into his. His touch was warm.
Steffan took her back through the blockhouse to a set of stone steps. “Up,” he said.
She climbed beside him. The steps were a straight flight and at the top they emerged into bright sunlight. The wall of the outer perimeter curved around the fortress itself. They stood upon the top, which was five paces deep. The walkway was shielded by shoulder-high stone facing the city, and waist-high stone on the other side.
There were guards spread along the top of the wall, one every hundred paces. None of them turned to look at Anwen and Steffan as they emerged from the stairs.
“There are guards,” Anwen warned Steffan.
“They won’t look at us,” Steffan said. “No one can hear us up here, if we move far enough away from the gatehouse. Pick a place, Anwen—somewhere between the guards.”
She chose the best position and led Steffan along the wall until they were standing between the two nearest guards, then turned to him. In the spring sunshine, Steffan’s strong face showed signs of strain. “You are not well,” Anwen said. “Are they treating you unkindly, here?”
“No more than anywhere else.”
“They are making you eat in public,” she pointed out.
“It was a just the one night.” He paused. “You were there…!”
Anwen nodded, even though he could not see it. “I was. I saw it all.” She dropped her voice even lower. “Steffan, this cannot be allowed to happen!”
He shook his head. “Speak plainly, Anwen. You always have.”
“Uther and Igraine!” she whispered. “Merlin plots to bring them together. Surely, if you are Uther’s man, you must be aware of this?”
Steffan sighed. “I am,” he said heavily. “I cannot stop it, though. I’m not sure I even should.”
Anwen stared at him, horrified. “I cannot believe you of all people would say such a thing. Of course it must be stopped! You were Gorlois’ man for much longer than you have been Uther’s. You understand the qualities of both men. How can you countenance Gorlois being cuckolded in this way?”
“There’s more to this than you understand,” Steffan said, his voice strained.
Anwen studied him, puzzled. “I do not understand,” she said in agreement. “It is plain you disapprov
e, yet you will do nothing?”
Steffan reached out. His fingers touched her arm, then slid up to her face. He held it, his thumb stroking her cheek and making her skin sizzle. “Merlin has made me hesitate to interfere.”
He told her of Merlin’s predictions, about a king to surpass all others, of peace and prosperity. “If Merlin is right—and he has never once been wrong—then this is the only way Britain can be saved from the blackest of times to come.”
“You do not believe in magic,” Anwen said, her voice hoarse because her throat was so tight. “You have said so many times that reasoning and logic were the only truths. How can you possibly take Merlin’s word for it?”
“Because it isn’t magic he used to see it,” Steffan replied. “It was logic and reason. Common sense says the Saxons will return and in greater numbers than ever before.”
“Merlin told you what you wanted to hear,” Anwen said. “He spoke to Igraine of a child—how could he infer that from logic and reason?”
“He didn’t,” Steffan said. “It could be what he calls his Sight or perhaps he is guessing.”
“So you do believe in his powers?”
Steffan shook his head. “No.”
“You won’t try to stop Uther, though?”
“How can I possibly do anything?” Steffan asked, his tone reasonable.
Anwen gripped his sleeves and shook him. “Of course you can! You ride a horse like a sighted man. You made your own way to Venta Belgarum. You found your way back to the High King’s service when everyone thought you should count yourself lucky to tutor little girls. I’ve seen you fight professional soldiers and win! How can you say you’re helpless? You’re the least helpless man I know!”
Steffan plucked her hand from his arm and held it. “That isn’t what I meant. I swore to serve Uther, Anwen. I don’t get to choose the manner of my service. Even if I disapprove of what Uther plans to do, what sort of man am I if I do not help him? He expects my loyalty. If I fail to give it to him, my disapproval would be hypocritical.”
“Your values are stopping you?” Anwen breathed.
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