The Kingmaking

by Helen Hollick

  The hill men dropped back reluctantly, looking to their leader who signalled compliance with a curt nod of his head. They lowered their weapons and took a few paces back down the slope.

  Arthur grinned. “Good. Happen now we can talk of this matter like civilised men.” He paused, looked Brychan disdainfully up and down, and added with pointed rudeness. “At least, I can talk so with young Gwynllyw here.”

  Brychan growled and raised his fist, but with a laugh Arthur stepped back to a safer distance, taking the girl with him.

  Following little used trackways and lonely hill routes, staying away from settlements where awkward questions could be asked had advantages when escorting a delivery of gold, but there were also disadvantages. The men foraged for food as they marched, at this time of year not a problem. This morning Arthur himself had brought down a fine buck – the butchered carcass would be roasting back at camp at this moment. The tents, good and strong, leather-made, were dry and windproof. There was water aplenty and few worries of raiding parties striking this far inland, which was why they were using this particular route. The one drawback was women; or the lack of them. A soldier welcomes the surfeit of willing girls to share his bed when stationed near town or settlement, grows used to long weeks of campaign or march without so much as a look at a female. But at odd times something occurs during these spells of enforced celibacy to remind the senses of what is being missed. Arthur held the girl close, his arm inside the folds of her cloak, encircling her slim body. As he had dragged her back, away from the proximity of her father his hand had touched the firm, rounded swell of her breast and, suddenly, Arthur wanted her.

  Beneath the cloak, Arthur shifted his hand. Her eyes flickered to his, her mouth closing in a bitten off gasp as he squeezed her waist. No woman could mistake his intent at that moment.

  Gwynllyw saw it also. The Pendragon personally, he did not know but he had heard stories about his father and those now told of the son, heard enough to shout, “Gwladys is mine, Pendragon. Leave her be!”

  Brychan countered swiftly with, “God rot you! She is not yours.”

  Arthur laughed – he was enjoying this. He covered the few yards to where Eira stood, unconcerned and cropping grass. No trained warhorse moved far once the reins were dropped; such a small thing could save an unseated rider’s life in battle. Arthur clicked his tongue and the horse lifted his head, ears pricking. The Pendragon lifted the girl to the horse’s withers and vaulted up behind her into the saddle and, wheeling the animal round, cantered the distance between the angry group of Brychan’s men and his own waiting line of cavalry. He stopped short just out of their hearing.

  The girl sat rigid, back straight, arms still, her lips pressed tight together. She dared not open her mouth for if she did, the scream clamped between her teeth would start and never end.

  Arthur bent his head, his mouth close to hers, his lips almost touching that exquisitely pretty mouth. When Eira shifted a hind leg, Arthur felt rather than saw movement to his left. He glanced up into the impassive face of Cei.

  “If you kiss her, Arthur, I shall ride up this hill and return to camp with the men, leaving you as dog’s meat for Gwynllyw and Brychan to chew between them.”

  Arthur forced a good-natured reply. “A bit of fun, Cei – harmless fun with a pretty girl.”

  “What was it someone said to me once? I want to see contented people, children with full bellies?” Cei looked Arthur straight in the eye. “I assumed you were talking of well-being and adequate food, but I must have got it wrong. You were obviously talking of lust and girls’ bellies filled with childbearing.” Cei’s cheeks were red-blotched with anger, his knuckles white as they clutched the reins. The two horses laid their ears back, sensing the fury. “Blood of Jesu! What are you doing, Pendragon? Are you determined to kill more men – our men – for the sake of a sea-wolf’s daughter?”

  Cei had never turned on Arthur before; had never commented on his more indelicate excesses.

  “Is the Christian Jesu turning you soft-bellied then, Cei?” Arthur asked, surprised. “You were never averse to a pretty woman before.”

  “In the right place, at the right time, na. This is not the place nor the time.”

  Arthur regarded the girl cowering away from his holding arm, saw and felt her terror. He gestured defeated to Cei. “You are right, my friend.”

  He took a deep breath, assumed a calm, relaxed smile and eased his hand on the girl’s waist. “So, you do not wish to bed with me?” She said nothing. “Not with the Pendragon? I possess land and wealth – I could keep a mistress in comfort and jewels for many years.” He sighed, “I see I am not tempting you.” He brushed a strand of dark hair from her cheek, tucked it behind her ear. She was surprised at how gentle his touch was.

  “I apologise, my dear, for all this.” He gestured behind him to the hill men, and then forward to his own soldiers. “It was necessary, I needed you out of their hearing to talk alone with you. I had no other intention.” He glanced at Cei. Happen the girl believed the lie. Cei certainly did not.

  Arthur lifted her down, dismounted beside her, took her by the elbow and walked a few paces.

  “So you are not interested in me? Ah well, it was worth the asking.” He grinned suddenly, genuinely regretting his behaviour. He swept her a low bow, then took her hand in his and kissed it lightly.

  A faint smile flickered on her pale face. This young man was absurd. For all the fear, she realised that she liked him. Things had happened so fast this day, so many reeling emotions coming tumbling one upon the other.

  “It seems, as I cannot have you,” Arthur glanced meaningfully at Cei, “who can? Your father or Gwynllyw? The choice is yours.”

  At the mention of Brychan her heart lurched. “He will kill me,” she whispered, not daring to look at her father, who stood arms folded, foot tapping.

  “I’d not allow him to. I would ensure no harm came to you.”

  Gwladys looked up at Arthur, wide-eyed, impressed. “You could do that for me?”

  Arthur knew well he had no jurisdiction over Brychan at all, but still he answered with a swagger of importance. “Of course.”

  Cei snorted.

  “I thank you, but I would rather go with Gwynllyw.” She said it decisively, her eyes at last managing to meet his. Arthur was exciting and interesting, but Gwynllyw was steadfast and solid. And she needed a husband, not a lover whose attention could change with the wind.

  “We had best sort this matter out then.” With his broad smile Arthur lifted her into Eira’s saddle and set her comfortably wedged between the rear and fore saddle horns, walked at the horse’s head, leading him by the bridle.

  She had never been mounted on such a tall horse before. Her father’s ponies stood below fourteen hands, and Gwynllyw’s not much taller, but this beautiful creature with arched crest and proud-carried tail stood a full fifteen hands.

  She stroked her fingers along the fine muscled neck, marvelling at the silkiness of coat and feeling of strength.

  Bracing his shoulder against the animal’s chest, Arthur eased the stallion to a halt before Brychan and motioned Gwynllyw forward. “It seems we have a difference of opinion here. On the one hand Brychan demands his daughter, on the other Gwynllyw demands a wife.” Arthur paused, thrust his thumb through his sword belt, considering the matter. “Gwynllyw, have you a bride-price to offer?”

  “Ten head of cattle and ten of swine. And I ask no dowry.”

  “That seems a fair exchange to me – does it not to you, Cei?”

  Cei, still mounted, nodded agreement.

  Brychan tried to speak, but Arthur motioned him to silence. “You could fight for her, of course.”

  Brychan snarled, “With pleasure!”

  Gwynllyw growled, “Let me at the chance!”

  Arthur just smiled with irritating amusement. “Brychan has, what, thirty men with him? But then, I have ten ranged behind me and another thirty t’other side of this ridge.” He lifted Gwladys
down from the saddle.

  Brychan was glancing warily up the hill. He had been considering how many men the Pendragon had with him since the first sighting, and now a figure had been stated; was it truth?

  Arthur’s grin faded. “Who owns this land we are on?”

  “I do,” said Gwynllyw. He gestured behind him. “We crossed the border stream some half-mile back.”

  Arthur slapped the young man’s shoulder and grinned again. “That settles the matter then.” He took hold of Gwladys’s hand, placed it in Gwynllyw’s and turned to mount Eira.

  With a roar, Brychan charged forward, but Arthur’s sword came up, stopping him short. “Brychan, are you so slow to learn? I suggest, and suggest strongly, you get on that ragged hill pony of yours and take your men home.” He thrust his face forward menacing. “You, Brychan, are on another’s land, and to my mind are intent on unrest. By the power invested in me by the King, if you do not get your arse off this land this instant I will have my signaller call the remainder of my men and we will personally escort you off.”

  Was it bluff? Brychan considered, considered hard, trying to read Arthur’s face. Without success. Brychan despised the Pendragon. Finally, he acknowledged he had no choice, turned on his heel and without a word returned to his men.

  “I shall send brideprice for your daughter,” Gwynllyw called.

  Brychan mounted his pony and turned it, savagely pulling at the bit. “For brideprice there must be a daughter. I have but one daughter and she is within my stronghold with the women!”

  Gwladys ran forward, distressed. “Father, please, I did not want it to be like this.”

  He spat into the grass by her feet. “You have lost all right to call me father. You are no longer of my flesh nor of my blood.” He trotted away without a backward glance, his men following silently.

  Arthur had mounted, began to ride off, but Gwynllyw caught up with him, placed a hand on the rein.

  “How can I thank you? You have done me a great service this day, although I admit to doubting your intentions for a while.” He said it openly, honest, meant in friendship. Arthur took it as such, proffered his hand for the young man to grasp.

  “You must never doubt my intentions, lad. Cei here has conscience enough to look after that side of things.” Arthur winked at his friend.

  Gwynllyw did not understand, but shrugged aside the question forming in his mind, said instead, “My priest shall marry Gwladys and myself on the morrow. I would be honoured if you and your men would attend my wedding feast.” He paused, reddened slightly. “But my stronghold is small. We are somewhat confined for room, a full turma would be difficult to accommodate.

  Arthur roared his laughter, Cei joining in.

  “God be praised! Have you not heard of Arthur, Gwynllyw? He is notorious for exaggeration. We have no more than ten and six men, including ourselves and officers.”

  Gwynllyw saw the jest, saw Brychan had been made to look the fool, and gladly offered the welcome due all travellers.

  II

  For five days they took advantage of pleasant company, good wine and relaxation. With the gold stored safely in Gwynllyw’s own treasure house – a stone-built chamber below ground – Arthur too took advantage of the unexpected holiday. Let Vortigern wait and worry.

  Gwladys settled well and quickly into her new household, welcomed by her husband’s four sisters and widowed mother. The breeding of her grandmother adequately cleansed the stain of Hibernian blood and her devout Christian faith made her the more readily accepted.

  At the wedding feast Arthur made promise of a wedding gift. He had not failed to notice Gwladys’s shining eyes as she stroked Eira, had seen also Gwynllyw’s appreciative appraisal. He mentioned Cunedda’s breeding herds.

  “I have heard of them – Gwynedd is well talked of. Is Eira one of Cunedda’s then?” Gwynllyw asked, interested. He would be prepared to pay a handsome price, though he could ill afford it, for such an animal.

  “Aye, Cei’s too. We purchased them from Cunedda when we first came into Vortigern’s service, but recently I have taken more. All my officers will soon be so mounted, and the men are to ride part-bred animals, hill ponies crossed with Cunedda’s fine stallions.”

  It could have been the drink or the congenial company, but Arthur suddenly found himself telling Gwynllyw of his plans for a large cavalry force with all the men, not just the officers, mounted on horses like Eira – drilled, highly trained men and horses.

  Gwynllyw was impressed, enthusiastic. “If I were not committed to my holding, I would gladly join such a company. At least I can give you my backing, for what it is worth.”

  “It may be worth a great deal, Gwynllyw. I thank you and…” Arthur stood up abruptly, banged the table with his empty tankard and demanded silence. “I have not yet granted a gift to the bride and her husband. I shall send to Gwynedd to procure the foundation stock of Gwynllyw’s own stables: one stallion and four mares – na,” he winked at Gwynllyw’s wife, “I shall make it five, one entirely for yourself. What say you, Gwladys?”

  The girl leapt to her feet and flung her arms around Arthur’s neck. “A mare of my own, like Eira?” She turned to her husband, smiling, delighted; “Even my father does not possess such a fine beast!”

  Seating himself, Arthur touched the place on his cheek where her lips had brushed, felt a twinge of regret that he had heeded Cei’s conscience.

  Cei, by his side, lightly tapped Arthur’s arm, whispered, “I take it Vortigern’s gold will be paying for such a lavish gift?”

  “It is in our King’s interest to encourage these smaller holdings. We need loyal men.”

  “We?” Cei sipped wine. “Or you?”

  Arthur’s face broke into a roguish grin, his interest swivelling to assess the serving slave pouring more wine into his tankard. He pinched her buttocks, said to Cei, “One day I will mean mine, but for now I am intent on more pressing needs.” He fingered the girl’s bodice, making a show of inspecting the lacing. She giggled as he whispered something in her ear, her eyes fluttering agreement to his suggestion. Arthur’s grin broadened as he leant back in his chair.

  “Well, this night is taken care of. As to the future, I think I have assured one man on my side.”

  Cei swallowed a mouthful of wine, said with a serious face, “How fortunate the Fates led Gwladys to be placed under your personal protection from any unwanted advances.”

  Arthur scowled and kicked Cei’s leg beneath the table. He glanced at her, so obviously happy, his scowl deepening. Mithras, he needed a woman!

  The fifth day. Clouds, puffballs of white cumulus billowing like ships in full sail against a blue sky. The heat had become oppressive, thick and clammy. The previous evening Gwynllyw had decided to hunt. The men had gathered at dawn calling the excited hunting dogs to order, had ridden out in joyful groups, singing and swapping tales of victorious battles and women won. The place seemed quiet and subdued without them.

  Gwladys wandered through the small Caer, alone for the first time since her arrival. The scatter of buildings here were only one quarter the size of her father’s huge complex of Hall, dwelling places, barns and buildings. She preferred her husband’s holding; it seemed more comfortable, more relaxed, than the constant buzz of activity at her father’s.

  She climbed to the top of the defence wall, hoping to find a cool breeze there, saw the ribbon of a river glistening among the trees. Whisking down the stairs she snatched a light cloak from her chamber and calling to a maidservant, announced, “I am going to the river.”

  The water was inviting; cool and deep. She walked for a while, watching ducks swim, a fish rise, a bird dive. No one was around. She was a strong swimmer – oh, why not? She stripped, waded into the water – how cold it was as it reached her thighs. She gasped as she plunged forward, swimming strongly. She felt clean and fresh.

  She swam vigorously for a while, letting the coldness bite into her skin, then floated with her arms outstretched, enjoying the pleasu
rable sensation of water on her nakedness.

  “You should not swim alone, it may not be safe.”

  She started and rolled over, taking in a mouthful of water as her head went down. Spluttering, she found firm ground beneath her feet, half stood, to hastily bob beneath the river’s cover as she saw Arthur standing there on the bank. He was leading Eira, who stood fetlock deep in the current.

  “I thought you were hunting!” she gasped, breathless from the ducking and from startled embarrassment.

  Arthur patted his horse affectionately. “He must have picked up a stone, for the sole of his hoof is bruised. I dare not lame him – we ride out on the morrow.” Arthur walked into the water beside the animal, lifted the leg to inspect the minor damage. “Cold water does wonders for leg injuries.”

  Gwladys felt a fool squatting down like this, but her clothes were on the bank, beyond him. How long had he been watching? She blushed, unsure what to do next.

  “However beneficial to a horse’s legs, river water is not over-kind to a lady’s skin,” Arthur remarked.

  “My clothes are behind you,” she said, hoping he would move away, dismayed when he did not.

  She had been swimming a good while, had not noticed the gather of clouds from the west. The soft fluffed whiteness of morning was dulling rapidly into rain grey. The sun disappeared, leaving the river in dark shade. Gwladys shivered, realised the Pendragon had no intention of moving.

  It suddenly occurred to her she did not care. She was a married woman now, beyond his touch. She stood, waded past him and scrambling up the bank began rubbing herself dry with her light summer cloak. She squeaked as she felt his hands on her shoulders.

  “You are shivering,” he said, “let me help you get warm.”

  “Na! Na, thank you, my Lord, I can manage!”

  All the same, he took the thing from her, began to rub, gently, at her back, across her shoulders, down her throat.