Was he now a traitor? Arthur had never allowed the council to name him high king after the disappearance of Ambrosius Aurelianus in Gaul, preferring instead his military title of Dux Bellorum, duke of battles. Even without the title, however, to all intents and purposes Arthur was the high king, the most powerful leader in Britain, the man who flew the Pendragon banner. Cador had never sworn an oath to serve him, being himself a king crowned, as opposed to his bastard cousin. Cador had inherited his lands in eastern Dumnonia from his father Geraint, while Arthur had inherited nothing from Uthyr. But Arthur was a legend, as much an idea as a person — the general who had dealt the Saxons the crushing defeat at the battle of Caer Baddon that had sent them slinking back to Ceint and the Isle of Vectis.
Arthur might not be king, but Arthur was Britain. And Cador had just done his best to subvert a direct order.
Why? Gildas was underhanded and unpleasant, with a deep-seated need to cut others down in order to feel a sense of his own worth. But he still was only thirteen years old. He didn't deserve to die simply because he had the wrong relatives.
And the Arthur Cador had once known would have felt the same way.
Chapter 4
He charged before three hundred of the finest,
He cut down both center and wing,
He excelled in the forefront of the noblest host,
He gave gifts of horses from the herd in winter.
He fed black ravens on the rampart of a fortress
Though he was no Arthur.
Aneirin, "Y Gododdin"
When Gildas was found to have gone missing the next morning, Cador dispatched half a dozen men to track him, while the rest of them continued on their journey to Caer Leon. They could not allow a missing boy to slow their progress north.
No one suspected. Cador's plan was working perfectly except for one thing: Kustennin could not be persuaded that it wasn't his fault Gildas had disappeared. Cador winced at the youth's self-recriminations — if only he had kept an eye on the younger boy, had accompanied him when he went off by himself, had been responsible rather than relieved to be rid of Gildas for a bit! With renewed guilt, Cador assured Yseult's son that they were doing everything they could to find his cousin; all they could do now was pray.
And lies begat more lies.
To Cador's relief, once they were within sight of Caer Leon, Kustennin forgot about being guilty, inspecting his surroundings with growing excitement. Cador gazed at the vibrant city spilling out past the walls of the former Roman garrison, wishing he too could forget his own feelings of guilt so quickly; there were more waiting for him within those wall, he knew.
"It looks as if it's market day," Cador observed. Colorful stands could be distinguished among the crowds. He raised a hand, and the two hundred cavalry halted. "I will go into Caer Leon to find out what arrangements have been made for us," he called out. "It makes no sense for us all to fight our way through those people at once."
"I will accompany you," Kustennin said in a tone of command.
Cador repressed a smile at his foster son's new kingly ways and nodded.
Kustennin appropriated Cador's standard from the young soldier who carried it and together they rode across the bridge over the River Usk. As soon as they reached the road to the eastern gate of the garrison, however, crowds choked their path.
"Let's ride around," Cador suggested. "Perhaps there will be someone at the training grounds to the southwest."
They turned their mounts to the south, skirting the booths and stalls set up against the city walls. As they came around the corner of the garrison, they found one of Arthur's soldiers riding to meet them.
"You are Cador?" the young man called out.
"Yes, and this is Kustennin."
"I am Peredur. Arthur has been expecting you."
Together they rode between the garrison and what was left of the Roman amphitheater, coming out on a large field that served as Arthur's main practice grounds in Caer Leon. Even above the cries of the market vendors, they heard the men training before they saw them: the whack of wooden weapons against each other, the grunts of hundreds of soldiers, the snorts and hoofbeats from hundreds of horses. The field was full of warriors, mounted and on foot, fighting one-on-one and in groups in mock skirmishes, a sea of men even more impressive than the crowds clogging the aisles of the market.
A dark-haired soldier stood on the sidelines, arms crossed in front of his tunic, watching the practice. As Peredur led them over, Cador recognized Arthur's nephew Medraut.
Cwylli's husband.
Why did Medraut have to be the first person Cador must face in Caer Leon? Perhaps it was a good thing — maintaining his facade with Medraut would prepare him for the half-truths to come when he saw Arthur.
Arthur's nephew looked up as they drew abreast. "Cador, greetings. We have been expecting you," he said, echoing Peredur's words.
"I will go in search of Arthur," Peredur said, wheeling his mount around.
"May I join you?" Kustennin asked — no longer commanding, Cador noted.
Peredur nodded, and the two of them rode into the melee, Cador's banner of blue and gold waving above them.
Cador would have preferred to follow, but instead he dismounted and took Wyllt's reins in one gloved fist. "No arms practice for you today?"
Given the way Medraut's brows drew together and his mouth tightened, it had been the wrong thing to say.
"No, there is no place for me in the upcoming campaign, and thus no need for me to train in the units that are to ride — my uncle's orders."
"You are not to ride with us?" Cador asked.
Medraut shook his head. "I am to be part of the unit left here for the defense of Caer Leon."
Cador shrugged. "Arthur needs people he can trust in Caer Leon too."
Arthur's nephew let out a sound halfway between a laugh and a snort of disgust. "Always think the best of everyone, do you not?" Cador was too surprised to feel offended by the obvious mockery in Medraut's words; besides, he had given up the right to be offended by anything Medraut said or did.
When Cador didn't respond, Medraut continued. "Arthur is not leaving me behind in Caer Leon because he trusts me, he is leaving me behind because I did not marry wisely."
"You cannot say that, Medraut. Cwylli is a good woman and loves you."
"She does, does she? Unfortunately, she comes with in-laws who are now besieging Abona and mean to carve a piece out of Dumnonia for their own personal kingdom."
"But Arthur must know you have nothing to do with that."
"Must he? Surely you have heard the rumor that the Mount of Frogs could not have been taken without the help of a traitor. Who better for the role than the brother-in-law of the northern pirates?"
"That's absurd. You do not even know the swamps around the Mount. I do not know them, and I have lived in these parts all my life. If there is a traitor, he's from the area. You spent most of your life across the sea in Armorica until you joined Arthur."
Medraut stared out across the melee. "But I could always have an accomplice."
"Anyone can have an accomplice." On some level, Cador could understand Arthur wanting to use Gildas to try to force his half-brothers' hand, but to suspect Medraut? Cwylli barely knew the northern pirates now trying to conquer the fertile region along the Sabrina Estuary, even though they were officially her half-brothers. She had grown up in the mild climate of Armorica, not the wild north.
They watched in silence for a moment as swords and shields clashed. Metal glinted across the sea of men; many soldiers were practicing with real swords rather than wooden.
"Perhaps Arthur will change his mind," Cador said. "Cwylli is almost a stranger to her half-brothers, after all."
Medraut shrugged — a shrug that radiated resentment. "Arthur isn't interested in giving her a chance to prove herself."
Cador hoped that wasn't true; Cwylli had enough to worry about. He squinted into the late afternoon sun, shading his eyes with one hand
. As he watched, the mock fighting died down and several figures detached themselves from the masses. The small party rode around the edge of the practice field in their direction.
"Arthur, well met!" Cador called out when the others were close enough. "I have brought you a few men for the defense of Dumnonia."
Arthur drew up beside him, followed by Bedwyr and Cai, his most intimate companions and, some said, his shadows. "Well met indeed, cousin! Your 'few men' are very welcome in Caer Leon."
"Thank you."
Arthur and the others dismounted. As Arthur pulled off his Roman-style helmet and shook out his graying hair, Cador was struck by how much he had aged since the last time they had seen each other. Nearly twenty years separated them, but nonetheless it was a surprise to see the deep grooves time had left in his forehead and around his eyes.
Cador nodded to Arthur's companions. "It is good to see you again, Bedwyr, Cai. It's been a long time."
Bedwyr ran a hand through his hair, his lips twitching up in a typical, one-sided smile. "Yes, it must have been at the last marriage we were all required to attend."
Silence descended as it dawned on the rest of them that it had actually been the funeral for Cador's wife Terrwyn. Before that, it had been the funeral of Cai's wife — Cador's sister. They had obviously reached the age where they met more often at funerals than weddings.
Bedwyr sighed. "Forgive me, Cador. I wasn't thinking."
Cador held up his hand. "No need to apologize. I may have brought reinforcements, but I also have bad news. Gildas disappeared on our journey from Lindinis."
Medraut suddenly abandoned his world-weary stance. "Disappeared? Why did you not tell me before? I must inform Cwylli."
"You're right, I should have. I'm sorry."
Medraut ignored the apology. Striding away from them, he mounted his horse and galloped in the direction of the western gate.
Cador explained to the rest what had supposedly happened.
"Why did you not have a watch on the boy?" Arthur asked, his expression betraying little of what he was thinking. But his posture, feet set wide, arms crossed in front of his chest, told Cador that the Dux Bellorum was not happy.
Cador shrugged. "I did not think it expedient to treat Gildas as a prisoner."
Arthur gazed at him without speaking for a moment. Cador gazed back with what he hoped was the open expression he was famed for, trying to hide his guilt. His reputation for honesty might well stand him in good stead now, when he had chosen a course of dishonesty.
Beyond where they stood, men continued their mock battle with swords wooden and metal, while grunts and snorts and the smell of sweat filled the air, but for Cador it was as if a cocoon of silence had descended around them, silence that would soon be broken by someone pointing a finger at him and crying out, "Liar!"
Arthur nodded shortly. "You are right, of course. Given the circumstances, a guard would have attracted undue attention. Do you think his brothers could be responsible?"
Cador shook his head. "I find that hard to believe. Our camp was always guarded, and we were far from the troops of the northern invaders."
"Not that far," Arthur said.
"So the boy is lost," Bedwyr threw in with a shrug and a sarcastic smile. "There is always his sister, right here in Caer Leon."
"I hope you are joking, my friend," Arthur said. "I do not make war on women."
"If they are pregnant," Cai said.
Cador turned his attention to Cai, stunned. Cai had been with Arthur longer even than Bedwyr, and he didn't make jokes. Arthur's Master of Horse was not looking at the rest of them, gazing instead at the thick Roman walls of Caer Leon absently as if he didn't have a care in the world.
"Definitely not if they are pregnant," Arthur said, trying to make the tone of his voice light, but it came out forced.
Then the further meaning of their jibes struck him. "Cwylli is pregnant?"
"Very much so," Bedwyr said with a laugh. "Where have you been?"
"Tending to my fields — and the stables from which many here have the mounts they are riding today."
The uncomfortable moment passed with laughter, but Cador was left with a burning question: who was the father of Cwylli's baby?
* * * *
At dinner in the principia that evening, Cador was relieved to find himself seated far from Cwylli and Medraut. He knew it was cowardly, but there was too much for him to deal with, too many changed dynamics among Arthur's men — and their women.
And little of it escaped Kustennin's keen eye, or perhaps his power of knowing. His whispered comments and questions between bites of roasted wood pigeon and wild mushrooms were often more revealing than Cador's own observations.
"Arthur does not show much interest in his young wife, does he? Hopefully she'll have no success finding comfort in Cai's arms."
Cador watched Ginevra lean into the tall, hot-tempered widower, and he could only agree.
"Poor Cwylli. It's not fair to her, the way Medraut stares at Nimue all the time. Maybe Cwylli should do something to make him jealous — although she would have to wait a few months."
And Cador found himself hoping his foster son could not delve too deeply into Cwylli's mind.
"But what can a woman as young and beautiful as Nimue see in an old man like Myrddin? Even if he is wiser than anyone in Britain?"
At that whispered question, Nimue glanced down the table at them, caught Kustennin's eye, and winked.
Caught, Kustennin had the good grace to blush. After that, his table conversation was more subdued and appropriate. Nimue's wink was more effective than all the fatherly advice Cador could muster.
After the meal, Cador took his wine glass, gritted his teeth, shored up his courage, and went in search of Cwylli. But first he located one of the servants pouring wine and extended his glass for a refill. It wasn't the smartest thing to do with an aching head, but he didn't feel very smart right now.
"Why so grim, Cador?" came a friendly female voice at his elbow.
Cwylli. Cador turned, facing Medraut's pregnant wife. Not for the first time, it struck him how much she looked like his dead cousin Drystan, with her bright green eyes and the long bronze braid down her back. Drystan too had worn his hair in such a braid.
"A bit of a headache, I fear," he said, wanting to ask her if the child was his, not wanting to know. "I can't tell you how sorry I am about the disappearance of your little brother."
She looked down at the floor mosaic, a pattern of diamonds radiating out from her feet, and her tongue touched her lower lip nervously. "While I am worried and hope he is safe, I am glad Gildas is not here in Caer Leon." Her words were so quiet, Cador had to lean down to catch them.
"You are very generous, Cwylli."
She raised her gaze to his face and cocked her head to one side. "No, I don't think so," she said barely above a whisper. "I think it is you who are generous."
Cador blinked. She must suspect what he had done — but how?
Before he could reply, Medraut joined them, laying his arm casually around his wife's shoulders. She looked up at him with a heart-wrenching smile, full of love and pain.
"I should perhaps be glad that Arthur has seen fit to leave me behind on this campaign," Medraut said, hugging Cwylli to his side. "At least then I will be here when my wife gives birth."
At Medraut's words, Cwylli's expression cleared — apparently despite everything that had befallen between them, she wanted more than anything to think well of her husband.
Cador attempted a smile. "That must be a great comfort to you, Cwylli."
"Oh, it is."
Over her head, Cador saw how Medraut's gaze sought out Nimue in the crowd.
* * * *
The cold morning air burned Cador's cheeks; spring was being its usual, inconstant self, disappearing just as it had come, and frost dusted the morning grass again. With a handful of Arthur's companions, Cador inspected the army assembled on the practice field of Caer Leon and tried to
stay warm. At least the horses standing close together provided some extra warmth. Wyllt tossed his head, sensing his rider's nervousness.
The sea of men over a thousand strong, half on foot, half mounted, wore a rainbow of colors representing at least a dozen kings in southern Britain. But not all. Peace had reigned too long; many did not take the threat of enemies again on their shores seriously. When Gawain had returned to report that Natanleod was no longer willing to stand with the rest of the kings of Britain, Arthur had nodded shortly and turned away, but it was obvious to all of them that he was deeply disappointed. Since he had first started fighting for his uncle Ambrosius Aurelianus over thirty years ago, Arthur had dedicated his life to the idea of Britain — an idea that no longer meant anything to regional kings like Natanleod.
Arthur touched Kustennin's elbow and pointed in the direction of the river, where about a hundred horsemen wearing blue and silver were gathered. "Have you seen them train, Kustennin?"
Kustennin squinted in the direction Arthur indicated, against the rising sun. "Are those the troops sent by Cadell?"
Arthur nodded.
"Yes, I saw them," Kustennin said.
"What do you think?" the Dux Bellorum asked.
"Either Cadell has not sent his best men, or he has neglected their training," Kustennin said. "In the skirmish yesterday, they were the first to be unseated."
"I noted that too," Arthur said. "You followed the action well."
Cador smiled to himself. One of Arthur's great talents lay in judging the fighting capabilities of his men better than any war leader Cador had ever known. He himself had not noticed the weakness of Cadell's troops in the previous day's skirmish. A number of kings wore colors in shades of blue and white or silver, which all looked very much the same on the battlefield, in the confusion of hundreds of warriors. Obviously Kustennin had a better eye for troop movements. But then, Kustennin had never taken to agriculture, had never picked up the knack for choosing the best fields for planting barley, or knowing whether to sow it after turnips or beans. There was little glory in barley and beans, but Cador hoped there would soon be a place in this world for a farmer king again.
Shadow of Stone (The Pendragon Chronicles) Page 5