Cold My Heart: A Novel of King Arthur

by Sarah Woodbury

  He headed around the table and in several long strides he and Owain met in the center of the hall, careless of who watched or what they thought of this development. As Owain and Gruffydd had been co-conspirators with Cai eight years before when they’d plotted to assassinate Arthur, it was understandable that some of Arthur’s men might give him a rather less-than-effusive greeting.

  Arthur, a smile on his lips that didn’t reach his eyes, canted his head in greeting to Gruffydd, who strolled down the aisle between the tables until he reached the point opposite Arthur’s seat.

  “My King.” Gruffydd bowed his head, although not perhaps as far as he could have.

  “Gruffydd.” Arthur gave his guest a similar, slight nod. The King gestured with his hand to the space beside him on his left, which Geraint had hastily vacated two seconds before. Normally, Bedwyr, Arthur’s closest confident, sat next to him on the other side, but he’d not appeared for the meal. Could be, he didn’t want to sit next to Cai, who’d taken his customary chair.

  Then, inexplicably, Deiniol detached himself from Cai’s side and strolled directly towards the four of them.

  “What’s he doing?” Myrddin said.

  Nell put a hand on his arm, just in case he acted first and thought later. She didn’t want Deiniol to insult her again, but didn’t want Myrddin to cause a scene either. In his weakened condition, Myrddin was more vulnerable than she. Deiniol, for his part, remained polite. He stopped two feet from their table, put his heels together, and bowed to Nell.

  “Madam,” he said.

  “Deiniol,” she replied, aiming for graciousness, although she couldn’t stop the twitch of a smile that lurked in the corner of her mouth at having to be polite to him. Perhaps humor might conquer Myrddin’s loathing.

  “So you didn’t have a death wish after all,” Myrddin said.

  Nell elbowed him under the table, hitting a painful spot that left him gasping, and then smiled at Deiniol. “It was a great thing you did, bringing Gruffydd and Owain here. It must have been a dangerous journey.”

  Deiniol smiled, his eyes scanning Myrddin’s bruised face. “It looks as if you had it rougher than I.”

  “It’s been an eventful week in your absence,” Myrddin said.

  “Was the road difficult?” Nell said, still speaking as sweetly as she could.

  “It was no trouble to serve my lord and bring new allies into his circle,” Deiniol said.

  Nell wasn’t so sure about that.

  “Does Modred know that Gruffydd’s here?” Myrddin asked Deiniol.

  He shrugged. “I doubt it. Gruffydd has always followed his own road.” He lifted his chin, pointing at Huw. “Who’s this?”

  “My son,” Myrddin said.

  “Sir,” Huw said. He held a cup in his hand and motioned to Deiniol with it, the same amused expression she’d seen on his face at times when he talked to Myrddin, as if he couldn’t quite believe he was actually in Garth Celyn, sitting beside his father.

  Deiniol gave a laughing cough, saluted Myrddin with a slight motion of his hand, and moved on towards Cai, leaving the four companions staring after him.

  Myrddin’s eyes crinkled in the corners. Nell was glad to see his anger easing. Wearing a half smile, he sat back in his chair. “Three days ago, who would you have said were the three weakest links in Modred’s control of Wales and the borderlands?”

  “The lords Cedric, Edgar, and Gruffydd,” Nell said.

  “And now all three have come to call,” Ifan said.

  “Can he have all three, do you think?” Nell said. “Will they work with each other as well as with us?”

  Myrddin made a ‘maybe’ movement with his head. “They’ve each fought Arthur in the past but they’ve also fought each other. It’s Modred’s response when he finds out that should give Gruffydd pause.”

  “If it’s so dangerous, why is Gruffydd here?” Nell said.

  “Because he’s worried that Arthur will win,” Ifan said. “He’s afraid that if he waits too long to change sides, Arthur will no longer need him and when he wins, give his land to someone more deserving and loyal.”

  “Are we that close to victory?” Nell said.

  “Gruffydd appears to think so,” Myrddin said. “Perhaps the pressure from the Saxon barons Modred is trying to unite is greater than we thought.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter Fifteen

  19 November 537 AD

  “Excuse me—uh—Father—what are you doing?”

  “I’m up,” Myrddin said. “I am alive. I refuse to lie in that bed one hour longer.”

  “Are you really planning to ride today?”

  Myrddin had entered the stables, thinking to get out of the hall and put aside his endless dreaming. It seemed that every time he closed his eyes, some new manifestation of his dream of Arthur’s death swam before his eyes, each one different from the last.

  “No,” Myrddin said. Snow had begun to fall and at his son’s words, Myrddin swung around to look behind him at the flakes floating in gentle wisps from the white sky. It had the look of continuing all day. “Up until right now, I’d forgotten Cadfarch wasn’t here. I was going to brush him.”

  “I’m sorry,” Huw said. “My lord will take good care of him.”

  “No doubt,” Myrddin said. Straw crunching underneath his feet, he walked to where Huw brushed his own horse. Myrddin picked up a brush to work alongside his son.

  “I’m surprised Nell let you get up.”

  “She’s seeing to a birth,” Myrddin said. “She doesn’t know.”

  “Is she your woman, like everyone says?” Huw carefully combed his horse’s mane rather than looking at Myrddin.

  “I don’t know that she’d characterize herself that way,” Myrddin said. “To her mind, she’s nobody’s woman but her own. At the same time, between you and me—and the rest of the garrison—no man should think otherwise.”

  Huw nodded. “I’ve spoken to Ifan of your injuries. When you said that they were at Modred’s behest, I hadn’t realized that he was actually present when his guards administered them.”

  “Yes,” Myrddin said. He ran his hand down the horse’s legs, feeling his sturdy hocks for damage. “Modred does as he pleases.”

  “My lord!”

  The call shattered the peace and in four strides Myrddin and Huw arrived at the entrance to the stables to look out on a small company of men just coming through the gate. Gareth led them, the white plume on his helmet fading into the snowy landscape. The man beside him wore the garments of a member of the clergy, although he’d drawn up his hood to protect himself from the weather so Myrddin couldn’t see his face. Surely that’s not one of Gareth’s cousins?

  But then the priest turned to hand his horse’s reins to Adda and Myrddin saw the face beneath the covering hood. The man was Anian, the Bishop of St. Asaph, who’d been party to the excommunication of King Arthur at Rhuddlan Castle.

  “What’s he doing here?” Myrddin said.

  “Joining the fold, it seems,” said Huw. He turned back to his horse. As he did so, he asked casually—although the question was anything but casual. “You distrust him?”

  “I trust very few men,” Myrddin said.

  “Not Deiniol, certainly,” Huw said. “Nell told me of your quarrels.”

  “It’s more than a quarrel,” Myrddin said, “for all that we’ve spoken no more than three sentences to each other in twenty years.”

  “And Cai?” Huw said. “You loathe him.”

  “That goes without saying,” Myrddin said. “These men are known traitors to King Arthur. It’s the ones who hide behind their loyalty while pocketing coins from Modred that concern me. Of them, there may be none or many, even here.”

  Huw picked up the brush for currying his horse and plucked at the hairs in it. Myrddin watched him, waiting for the question he knew was coming. “And me?” he said. “Do you trust me?”

  If Myrddin could have told Huw without humiliating him that he was transparent,
he would have. As it was, Myrddin clapped him on the shoulder. “I trust you. When I told you earlier that some here didn’t, I did not mean me.”

  “What if my lord really did send me to find you in order to act as his spy among your people?” Huw said.

  “Did he?”

  “No,” Huw said, indignant, despite the fact that he’d been the first to pose the question.

  “Lord Cedric undoubtedly hoped that you would serve him in that capacity anyway,” Myrddin said. Huw stuttered a protest and Myrddin held up a hand to stop him speaking. “Imagine you are a lord of Mercia and one of your men, one of the younger squires, tells you that his real father is someone other than the staunch companion of your youth. He’s a Welshman you’ve never met. The boy asks to seek this new father out. You know that the boy’s mother is Welsh. You understand how his two allegiances could pull him apart, regardless of how noble you believe him to be.”

  “So you send him north,” Huw said, nodding. “And hope that he finds his father and that through that relationship, whether or not the boy wishes it, you discover something you didn’t know about the King Arthur’s plans.”

  “It is a sensible approach,” Myrddin said. “Logical too. It’s not even deceitful.”

  “If the boy comes home empty-handed,” Huw said, “he has information about the disposition of Arthur’s men and the interior of Wales you hadn’t known before.” Huw paused. “I would have been eager to tell Lord Cedric all I’d learned.”

  “It is the perfect plan,” Myrddin said. “Cedric risks only you, who have requested this mission. At best, he gains knowledge; at worst, he loses a good squire.”

  “At worst.” Huw studied his boots.

  “When I met Cedric,” Myrddin said, moving closer to Huw and taking the brush so Huw would look at him, “he was surprised at first. But he recognized my name, and because of that, he freed me from Modred’s clutches.”

  “So I would find you,” Huw said. “So I would spy for him.”

  Myrddin shook his head. “Cedric’s position in Wales is unstable. You cannot blame him for using whatever weapons come to hand, especially if he can wield them at so little cost to himself.”

  This was too much for Huw. The knowledge that he’d been used by his lord stuck in his throat and he couldn’t swallow it. He turned to Myrddin and stepped close, his face right in his father’s. He wasn’t angry as much as fierce. “Would you ever do that to me?”

  “I would tell you,” Myrddin said, “and make you a willing party to my plans. I promise you that.”

  Huw shot Myrddin an unreadable look from those pale eyes, nodded, and stepped away, back to his horse. Myrddin didn’t know if Huw was truly reassured or if he no longer knew what to believe.

  “But I am your father,” Myrddin added. “In his present, precarious state, Cedric doesn’t have time for niceties. Don’t be too hard on him.”

  Huw didn’t answer. Instead, he pawed through the saddle bags that rested on a hook in his horse’s stall. He took out a wad of old cloth that looked like nothing more than a bandage yet to be used on an injured man. He unfolded it and held his hand out to Myrddin. A heavy gold cross on a thick chain lay in Huw’s palm. At the sight of it, Myrddin stepped closer, his breath catching in his throat.

  “Christ’s bones, Huw, I’ve not seen that cross . . .” Myrddin’s voice died as he realized where he’d last seen it.

  “Since you gave it to my mother,” Huw said. “I know.”

  Myrddin reached out a finger and touched it, feeling the smooth metal and remembering when he’d given it to her. The cross had weighed on his neck, dangling between them as Myrddin had made love to her. He’d placed it around her neck instead. In his mind’s eye, Myrddin saw it settle between her breasts and warm there.

  He’d spent the night in her bed; then left in the early hours of the morning at the command of his King. At the time, he’d meant for Tegwan to keep it. Myrddin had been nineteen years old, in love and a romantic. It seemed appropriate to give her the one thing of value that he possessed, barring his sword.

  “It was my mother’s,” Myrddin said. “I’ve always assumed that her father gave it to her, although it has crossed my mind that she could have gotten it from mine.” He looked into Huw’s face. “It’s yours, now.”

  “No.” Huw shook his head. “You’re still young enough to marry. Although my mother cherished it, I have many things from her, including sixteen years of memories. If you want to give it away again, give it to Nell.” He pushed his hand towards Myrddin and Myrddin didn’t resist him. He lifted the cross from Huw’s palm by its chain, caressing the smooth links.

  “Thank you.” Myrddin forced the words past the thickening in his throat. “My nurse gave this to me when I was twelve, believing that I should have something of my mother. She had kept it hidden all those years, knowing that if Madoc found it, he could claim it for himself as payment for giving me house room until I became a man.” Myrddin slipped the chain over his head and tucked the cross under his shirt. It was an unfamiliar weight against his breastbone, but a comforting one.

  “May it protect you wherever you go,” Huw said, “as it has me.”

  * * * * *

  “I dreamed last night.” Nell stood in the doorway of their room, gazing down on Myrddin who lay spread-eagled on his pallet. Huw remained in the hall where he would spend the night amongst the other squires and men-at-arms who were arriving in increasing numbers with their lords, in preparation for the meeting of the Welsh High Council.

  Nell had asked Huw if he would prefer to share their room even though Myrddin no longer needed watching over. The appalled look on his face had prompted laughter from Nell. Myrddin and Nell had become more than friends, but what exactly they were to each other, Nell wasn’t quite sure. The rest of the castle assumed they knew, however, and if that meant she could continue to stay with him, then that was fine by her. Like the breeches she’d worn to Rhuddlan, the idea was freeing.

  “I dream every night,” he said.

  “Will you tell me about them?” Nell would have asked him about the dreams days ago, but he’d been ill . . . and she almost hadn’t wanted to share them with him because once she did, they’d both be laid bare. While they’d admitted the truth to each other, what that truth entailed, and what they were going to do about it, wasn’t at all clear.

  “Do I have a choice?” Myrddin said, and then smiled, taking the sting out of his words. He gestured to Nell with one hand. She entered the room and closed the door behind her; then walked to the pallet on which Myrddin lay and knelt on the end of it. Myrddin pushed himself upright and braced his back against the wall. “All right.” He scrubbed at his face with both hands. “Talk to me.”

  “My dreams have changed.”

  “Have they?” he said. “How?”

  “Except for that first instance, I’ve always fought as you when I dream. But since before you went to Rhuddlan, it’s been different. Sometimes you’re not even there. Last night, more men filled the clearing than before, and there were no archers. In fact . . .” She paused, trying to think how to say this. “Although you were there, you didn’t die.”

  “Really.” Myrddin dropped his hands to his lap. “And that’s different?”

  “Yes, of course,” she said.

  “Certainly, I have no interest in dying just yet,” Myrddin said. They sat silent for a moment, before Myrddin continued. “I don’t just want to save King Arthur because I want to save Wales—I have this odd idea that if I save him, I save myself.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with not wanting to die by a Saxon’s sword,” Nell said.

  “In my dream last night, I didn’t have Cadfarch,” Myrddin said. “That might be the first time. And since just before I met you, I’ve not worn a mustache.”

  Nell’s eyes widened. “And that’s my fault! But I didn’t know!”

  “No,” Myrddin said. “Only because I didn’t tell you, and yet . . .”

  “Does that m
ean that actions we take in the real world change our dreams, which in turn indicates a new course in the future?” Nell said. “That we’re making progress?”

  “What is progress?” Myrddin said. “We have no idea if everything we’re doing right now is exactly what we need to do to ensure that King Arthur dies on December 11th. There’s no reason to think otherwise.”

  “Except that if King Arthur’s death is inevitable, why dream?”

  Myrddin snorted under his breath. “You’re assuming these dreams don’t come from the devil.”

  “Oh, yes,” Nell said. “I thought it at first, of course. I told my father of the vision the first time I had it. I ran home, screaming of the battle I’d witnessed and the dead men. Once past the clearing, the world reverted to what it had been. But when my father searched, he found nothing by the river. He was afraid for me, then.”

  “Did you ever tell a priest?”

  “Did you?”

  Myrddin gave a sharp laugh. “No.”

  “So what did you do?” Nell said. “Up until now, I mean.”

  “I came to serve the King as soon as I was able,” Myrddin said. “But otherwise, I ignored the dreams. I drank.”

  “You drank.” Nell strove to keep her voice even. “And what good was that supposed to do?”

  “Goddamn it! I don’t know!” Myrddin said. “Who am I to change the world? Who am I to have these visions?”

  Nell bit her lip as she looked at him, realizing she’d pressed too hard. “You’re Myrddin. Why not you?”

  “What about you, then?” Myrddin said, still angry. “You were doing no more than I. Less, in fact. You were leaving Wales.”

  “Um . . .” Nell looked down at her hands folded in her lap, and then back up at Myrddin. “No, I wasn’t.”

  “That’s what you told me.”

  “I lied.” Nell forced herself not to look away from Myrddin’s face.

  “You lied.” He mimicked the flatness in her tone.

  Nell nodded. “I was going to Rhuddlan, as I said, but my intent was to enter the castle.”