The priest’s face turned very serious. “What about your lord?” he said to Myrddin.
“King Arthur told me to find a wife and he would give me land to support her in the new year,” Myrddin said. I pray that’s still true!
The priest nodded. “That’s very good. I will bless you, even if some will say that I can’t see to my parishioners in this fashion.”
“Those men are not Welsh,” Myrddin said. “Even the Bishop of St. Asaph refused to put out his candles. If it matters to you, we can ask again for a blessing when the interdict is lifted.”
“If the interdict is lifted.” The priest grumbled under his breath; then said something about, “upstart half-Saxon telling me how to do my job.”
Nell and Myrddin exchanged a look, and both smiled. The priest placed a cross about his neck, turned back to them, and lifted his hands to the heavens to begin his prayer. Myrddin moved his hands to Nell’s waist to pull her closer, bending to touch his forehead to hers.
After the priest finished speaking, Myrddin lifted the chain that held his mother’s cross and settled it around Nell’s neck. Surprised, she looked down at it, and then up into his eyes. “Myrddin—”
“Sshh,” he said, a finger to her lips. And then recited, “For as long as there’s wind in the mountains; for as long as there’s salt in the sea; for as long as rain falls on these green hills; I will stand with thee.” It was the native ritual with which they’d both grown up. “Nell ferch Morgan, I claim thee as my wife.”
Nell brought her hands up, one in each of his, and Myrddin clasped them to his chest. They stood close, breathing each other in, as the priest called down the blessing they wanted but didn’t need.
* * * * *
Chapter Twenty-Four
11 December 537 AD
The storm hadn’t lessened by dawn. Myrddin lay on his back, listening to the wind howling around the castle, not wanting to face the morning. The King couldn’t see the chasm opening at his feet which threatened to suck him in. It had already pulled in Myrddin and with only ten hours between now and the rendezvous, there was no way he and Nell were going to get everything done that needed doing.
“Five minutes,” Nell said from the doorway to their room. As they’d agreed, she wore her habit. That was going to be a surprise to the priest if he saw her before they left. “Huw’s got the horses ready.”
“I’m coming,” Myrddin said. Now that he was awake, he noted the stamping of the two dozen horses in the castle bailey, just on the other side of the wall. “How’d you sleep?”
“Did I sleep?” she said, and then smiled. “When this is over, they’ll be plenty of time for sleeping.”
Myrddin got himself upright, kissed Nell on his way out the door, and walked with her into the bailey. He had some hope that the snow wouldn’t be falling quite as hard as yesterday, but once they left the shelter of the castle walls and were again on the road to Buellt, the wind picked up. It shrieked down the canyon through which the road ran and into their faces. They bent forward into the storm, cloaks clutched and shoulders hunched. Myrddin pulled his cap more securely over his ears and his scarf tighter around his neck. He’d tied his helmet to his saddlebags. He would only put it on in great need, since metal and cold were synonymous in a snowstorm.
As Cedric and Myrddin had agreed, they said goodbye to Cedric’s men at a crossroads. The company turned northwest to St. Cannen’s church where they would wait for Arthur—or for Myrddin once he’d finished his business with Edgar. Nell, Huw, and Myrddin carried on the last miles alone.
Myrddin had hoped to have easily reached this point the day before. He’d wanted plenty of time to determine the lay of the land, even if it meant sleeping in a ditch or an abandoned barn last night. But they’d run out of time for maneuvering. The eight miles to Buellt took them long hours of hard slogging, pushing on past the point they wanted to stop and refusing to give up. Thus, noon had come and gone by the time they reached the castle.
“We have to find way to talk to Edgar,” Nell said as they approached the gates, which rose up black before them. Agravaine had a small army outside the walls, but the encampment showed no signs of imminent movement, which was a great relief.
“We’re walking in like blind men,” Myrddin said. “I don’t like it.”
“Aww. This is what makes it fun,” Huw said, parodying Ifan and trying to cheer up his dour elders.
“No question of that, son,” Myrddin said. “Go on, then. Your face and Cedric’s colors can get us inside.”
Myrddin hoped the garrison and its leaders were so busy with the threat of Arthur’s approaching army that they’d not question Myrddin’s presence. In contrast to Huw, he wore a deep green surcoat that claimed allegiance to no lord. Nell said his tunic brought out the green in his hazel eyes and it occurred to Myrddin that if it pleased her so much, he would only wear this color from now on, even if it clashed with Arthur’s crimson and white—if he still had leave to wear those colors.
As they hoped, at such a busy hour of the day and with all the coming and going through the gatehouse, few marked their presence and those who did were appropriately dismissive. The man-at-arms who allowed them through the gate looked them over and then waved a hand to let them pass. Given that the snow still fell unrelentingly, a man would have had to be pretty hardened to turn away a nun and her escorts—one of whom wore Cedric’s crest—under those conditions. They found housing for their horses in the sprawling stable complex and then made their way to the great hall.
“This needs to be quick if we are to reach the church in time,” Myrddin said. “We are already too late to warn the King before he reaches it.”
“That’s what Cedric’s men are for,” Nell said.
“I spoke with a stable boy,” Huw said. “He told me that no one has seen Edgar since he arrived. Could he have returned to Wigmore Castle or left already for Brecon?”
“No,” Nell said. “If he’d gone to Brecon, we would have passed him on the road. Edgar is here.” Nell tipped her head to indicate a man-at-arms walking from the barracks to the stables. “Those are his colors.”
“I would have to agree,” Myrddin said. “Modred finally approved Edgar’s inheritance. He’ll want to be in the thick of things to emphasize that Modred chose right in restoring to him his lands.”
“Which is why we don’t think Edgar ever intended to betray Modred in the first place,” Nell said. “Or if he did for a fleeting moment, he certainly doesn’t now. There’s too much at stake for him to risk Modred’s disapproval.”
“But then why isn’t he in evidence?” Huw asked. “We have to find him—for Lord Cedric’s sake, if not for King Arthur’s.”
The rescue of Cedric had done nothing to dampen Huw’s admiration of his former lord and Myrddin couldn’t blame him. What most concerned Cedric was his own power, but you had to admire the man for making it this far, given what had happened to his father at Modred’s hands.
Like the bailey, the great hall was full of soldiers. Huw led the way to a spot on the end of one table, but before they could sit, a jovial shout split the air. “Huw!” A young man rose from his position on the other side of the hall and walked toward his friend.
Huw smiled, somewhat sickly Myrddin thought, and held out his hand. The two grasped forearms and then Huw introduced him. “Father, this is Peter, one of my companions growing up. Lord Cedric sent him to Agravaine as a squire several years ago.” Huw turned to Peter. “I’m glad to see you are well; you’ve found a place here.”
“That I have.” Peter slapped Huw on the back. “Come. Eat!” Then, Nell’s habit registered and he turned fully to her, his face flushed with embarrassment at his lapse. “Madam,” he said, with a slight bow. “Might I be of some service to you?”
Nell stuck her nose in the air and sniffed. “I wish to speak with Edgar of Wigmore. On a private matter.”
At the mention of Edgar’s name, Peter reacted swiftly, moving closer and waving his hand at her in
a shushing movement. “You cannot see him! Don’t say his name.”
Huw studied his friend. “Why? What’s happened?”
“Lord Agravaine believes him a traitor to Lord Modred!” Peter said, relishing his role in imparting the news. “Supposedly, Edgar is unwell and confined to his bed at the top of the keep, but in truth, my lord leaves men to guard his door.”
Nell opened her mouth to speak but Myrddin put a hand on her shoulder to stop her. “Thank you, Peter. We appreciate the news.”
Myrddin caught Huw’s eye and he tipped his head at his son. Catching on, Huw said, “I’m starving. I’ll sit with you and we can catch up.”
“For a few minutes only,” Peter said. “I’ll be riding out shortly.” He winked. “We have a mission.”
Huw shot Myrddin a look of pure dismay and Myrddin caught his arm before Peter could lead him away. “Watch your back, son.”
“I can do this, Father,” he said. “Trust me.”
Myrddin nodded, reluctance sickening his gut, but he let him go. As soon as Peter and Huw had turned away, Myrddin steered Nell towards the back of the hall, to the stairwell that led down to the kitchens or up to the apartments above.
“That boy is one of the men Agravaine is sending to the church,” she said.
“I know,” Myrddin said. “We can’t stop them now. Given that we’ve made it here at this hour, Cedric’s men should have reached the clearing too. The King will have allies and it won’t be the uneven fight for which Agravaine is hoping.”
“But what are we going to do?”
“We’re going to speak to Edgar,” Myrddin said. “Agravaine distrusts him and that’s good for King Arthur. Then we’re going to get out of here as quickly as possible. If Modred’s dungeon was bad, the one here would be catastrophic.”
Nobody stopped them from climbing the stairs to the rooms above, although when they reached the landing on the second floor, intending to continue to the third, a guard confronted them. He dropped a pike to block the way, looking apologetic once he took in Nell’s apparel. Myrddin had to give Nell credit. Bringing her along on this journey dressed as a nun had been one of her better ideas.
“I’ve orders to let nobody pass.”
Nell opted for her cloak of meekness, rather than authority; all Myrddin could do was admire it. “Please, sir. I’ve word that Edgar requested someone with whom to pray. Since it is uncomfortable for me in the hall, the priest sent me here. My former husband served the old lord before both of their deaths. I believe Lord Edgar would want to see me.”
The man gaped at her. “I’ve no orders—” He stumbled over the words.
Myrddin looked at him, then, with his best how foolish do you want to be? stare.
“Yes, Madam.” The guard recovered enough to shrug his shoulders. “Tell the two men on the door that Walter sent you.”
“Thank you,” Nell said, befuddling him further with an uncharacteristic giggle, and moved past the guard, Myrddin hard on her heels.
“You simpered at him,” Myrddin said as they circled the stairs to the uppermost rooms.
“It worked, didn’t it?”
Myrddin couldn’t argue with her, although surely it was unbecoming conduct in a nun, not to mention his wife. He shook his head and remembered Ifan’s laughter. Myrddin with a wife. He prayed they’d have more than just this one day together.
In short order, they arrived at the landing of the third floor. Two guards occupied the space. A ladder to the battlements rose from the middle of the floor; a locked door, barred from the outside, lay behind it.
“She’s here to speak with Lord Edgar,” Myrddin said. “I was to tell you that Walter sent us.”
One of the men sneered but didn’t argue. He peered through the narrow window in the locked door. “Got a nun to see you.” Myrddin couldn’t hear the reply, but the man nodded. “Go on in.”
Nell smiled and tipped her head. “Thank you.”
The guard unbarred the door and she slipped past him. Myrddin made to follow, but the guard stopped him with a hand to his chest before he could pass through the doorway.
“You stay here.” He closed the door.
Myrddin had expected as much. He stepped to the side and leaned against the wall, ready for when Nell and Edgar came through the door—if that was indeed what was going to happen. He would find out soon enough. He’d caught a glimpse of Edgar before the guard had blocked the way. He’d been facing away from them, staring out the lone window, which was located high up in the northwestern wall.
Although it couldn’t have been far into the afternoon, the sky was dark, less because the sun was setting than because of the storm clouds that had been their constant companion for the last four days. Blessedly, the rate of falling snow had lessened over the last hour since they’d arrived.
The minutes stretched out in silence. The guards returned to their table and their dicing, and Myrddin waited. He couldn’t make out the conversation beyond the door, just low murmurs between Nell and Edgar. Then the voices stopped, booted feet paced the floor, and a strong hand banged on the door.
“We’re done here,” Edgar said.
Earlier, Myrddin and Nell had agreed that if Edgar said those words, then she believed he was on King Arthur’s side and Myrddin was to do what he could to facilitate his release.
The guards looked up, surprised they were needed again so quickly. One stood and came to the door. The other turned to Myrddin. “Our lord is cleansed of sin, is he?”
“It seems so.” Myrddin returned his smirk.
Myrddin stayed where he was beside the door frame, seemingly unconcerned but inwardly bracing himself for action. The guard unbarred the door and pulled on it. As it began to open, Myrddin moved. Shoving his left shoulder into the gap between the door and the frame, he put the full force of his weight behind it to slam the top edge of the door into the guard’s forehead.
The man stumbled backwards. Before he could recover, Myrddin came around the door, hit him with the heel of his right hand, and with a swipe of his right foot, had the guard’s legs out from under him. The man fell hard on his back and cracked his head on the wooden floor.
Meanwhile, Edgar had bounded out of the room. The second guard had tried to pull out his sword but was still fumbling with it when Edgar drove Nell’s knife into his chest to the hilt. With two downed men between them, Edgar and Myrddin faced each other. Myrddin gave the former prisoner a long look, taking in his short-cropped dark hair, narrow face and black eyes, which like Cedric’s, gave nothing away.
Edgar raised his eyebrows. “I think we’re done here.”
Walter called to them from the stairs below. “Is everything all right up there?”
“Prisoner’s giving us a bit of trouble,” Myrddin said, in as gruff a voice as he could manage and speaking in Saxon, the language of the guards.
“I’ll come up.” Walter’s feet sounded on the steps. They had ten seconds to prepare.
Without Myrddin having to say anything, Edgar leapt to a position on one side of the archway that led to the stairs while Myrddin occupied the other. Nell stood some ten feet away in the middle of the room just in front of the ladder that led upwards. For a count of three, she waited, her hands twisting in her skirt. Walter spied her with five steps to go to the top and then bounded up the rest.
“Madam!” he said.
That was all he managed to say before Myrddin wrapped his arm around Walter’s neck. Edgar pressed the knife to his breastbone, but in the end, didn’t have to use it. Walter lost consciousness, slumped in Myrddin’s arm, and Myrddin lowered him to the ground.
“You sent a letter to Arthur ap Uther,” Myrddin said, turning to Edgar.
“I did.” Edgar had started to ease away from Nell and Myrddin, as if unsure of his safety, but then arrested his movement.
“Was it sincere?”
Edgar coughed and laughed at the same time. “Was it? Do I even know? It doesn’t matter now. Agravaine sends men to intercep
t the King. He’s emptying the castle of his knights and men-at-arms in pursuit of this endeavor.”
“It isn’t too late to warn him,” Myrddin said to Nell. “If we leave now, I can ride hard to the church.”
“It is too late,” Edgar said. “Agravaine has been communicating with King Arthur in my name for three days. The meeting will occur in less than an hour. He told me of it last night. As Nell entered my room, I saw that Agravaine’s second in command had gathered his men in the bailey of the castle. They left in the few minutes we occupied in talking.”
Myrddin spun on his heel. He strode through the open doorway to Edgar’s cell and then to the window. “The devil take him. We are too late.” He swung around to Edgar. “Has Agravaine gone too? Does he lead them?”
“Does the man fight himself? Ever?” Edgar gave a laugh that came out an ironic snort. “Of course not. He’s too important to tarnish his sword with Welsh blood.”
Myrddin had heard enough. “Do you want to get out of here?”
“And damn the consequences?” Edgar said. “Yes. I never intended, as Agravaine does, to murder my uncle. I do not want his death on my conscience.”
“Then let’s go.” Myrddin covered the distance to the stairwell in a few steps, glad he didn’t have to kill the Saxon lord.
They hurried down the stairs to the second floor, and then to the first. Before they continued to the kitchens, Myrddin held out a hand to stop his companions. Huw had been dining in the great hall but if Peter had left with the rest of the garrison, there was no telling where Huw’d got to. Myrddin peered around the doorway that led to the hall, looking for his son. The tables were deserted as Edgar had warned they would be. Only two men remained: Huw—his back to the fire—and another man. The man’s voice had risen, berating Huw while Huw shifted from one foot to another, pained and uncomfortable. Myrddin recognized the tone. Damn it! Agravaine.
Huw didn’t acknowledge Myrddin but flicked a finger in his direction. Understanding, Myrddin waved him off and retreated around the corner, furious at the cock-up this mission had become, and running through potential ways to rescue Huw.
Cold My Heart: A Novel of King Arthur Page 24