A Novel

by Signe Pike

  “Announce yourselves,” the sentries warned. Then I heard a man’s harsh voice call out, “It is Lord Peredur, son of Eliffer, in the company of his brother.”

  I tugged my shawl more tightly about me and hurried inside, back to the weaving room.

  “Gwrgi and Peredur have come,” I warned. “They travel in great company.”

  Elufed lifted her hands from her work. “And this was warned by the crow?”

  I nodded.

  Gladys looked nervously to the shuttered window. “What does it mean, Mother?”

  “It means we must ready the feast hall and the guest quarters right away.” Elufed stood abruptly, summoning her serving woman.

  “Mother.” Gladys fixed her eyes on me. “What does it mean?”

  “It was a warning no good will come of this visit,” I said, my stomach churning beneath my robe. “Your father is in the great room. Go and tell him who has arrived.”

  “And shall I tell him of the crow?”

  “Goodness, no,” I said quickly. “Tell him nothing of the bird. And, Gladys,” I added, causing her to pause, “do not come outside. Find your father and then go to your chamber.”

  “But, Mother, won’t it be rude?”

  “Don’t argue, now,” I snapped. “Obey me. Is that clear?”

  Her cheeks reddened, but she dipped her head in quick assent as she turned to go, and I felt a stab of regret. Too often of late Gladys had borne the brunt of my sharpness. But I had seen the way Gwrgi’s dark eyes pricked with delight at the sight of my eleven-year-old daughter, and I would not provide him another glance.

  Elufed finished directing the servants and sent them away, cursing under her breath. “Why were we not forewarned? I do not like surprises. My man shall know my displeasure when next I see him.” Her eyes were icy with her threat, but beneath them I saw a flicker of fear. Elufed had watchers everywhere. Never before had they failed her. She caught me looking at her and straightened.

  “Don’t fret, Languoreth. Corpse birds should warn of Gwrgi and Peredur wherever they go. Perhaps this is nothing so special,” she said, trying to soothe me in her way, then touched her coiled hair. “We must greet them, I suppose.” My mouth must have curved in disgust, for she frowned.

  “Give them a warm welcome. You show your displeasure too readily upon your face.”

  “Gwrgi and Peredur know that I despise them. In fact, I rather think they enjoy it,” I said.

  “All the more reason.” Elufed fixed her pretty mouth in a smile as a servant helped her with her shawl. “Why would you endeavor to provide them with even a moment’s pleasure?”

  I drew myself to my full height and took my place beside the queen as the sentries admitted the men on horseback into the courtyard. I counted more than forty in number, wearing their fur-lined autumn cloaks, their leather boots stained dark from muck and weather, faces dirty and hair unwashed. Among them I spotted square-faced Gwrgi as he gave a violent yank on his horse’s reins, and Peredur, his long hair hanging limply beneath the hood of his cloak. His dark eyes were slippery as he scanned the courtyard, dismounting and removing his riding gloves. A fat man wearing a torque followed, sniffing loudly with his bulbous nose. He had golden rings jammed upon each of his pudgy fingers and a licentious look about him. I knew him only by the final chieftain who rode in their company, a man with keen eyes and angry splotches of red marring his stubbled face, who could be none other than Cynfelyn the Leprous. This meant the fat lord was his cousin. I had never before met them, but I knew they were petty chieftains of the south, their narrow swaths of land pressed between the new Angle land of Bernicia to the east and the lands of Uther Pendragon to the west.

  “My lords.” Elufed bowed as they neared. “Your visit is not forewarned, but nonetheless you are most welcome. I see you have with you Cynfelyn and Dunawd. You must travel on a matter of much import.”

  Peredur mounted the step and I inhaled the rancid stink of the goose grease he used to slick back his hair.

  “We are grateful for your hospitality, my lady.” Peredur ignored her bid for information. “I take it the king is in residence?” He peered behind Elufed into the yawning corridor of the hall.

  “Indeed. You will find him in the feast room. Come in, dry yourselves. I trust you will stay the night?”

  “Provided it suits the king.”

  “I’m certain it will.”

  Behind Peredur, Gwrgi fixed his eyes on me and tipped his head back, giving a soft howl like a wolf.

  “You must excuse my brother,” Peredur said. “He is in want of wine and a willing woman, if it can be arranged. It will settle him, I’m sure of it.”

  Elufed blinked. “Of course.”

  Gwrgi meant to remind me of all those years ago, at the market. Good. Let him search my eyes now. He would find only disgust lingered; I had no tolerance for fear. As Peredur brushed past, Gwrgi did not miss his chance.

  “The lady Languoreth,” he said. “How fine you look. I am sorry to hear that your brother Pendragon is in such poor health.”

  “Uther Pendragon?” I gave a laugh. “Nay. Why, Lailoken joined him on a hunt only days ago. Wild pheasant, it was. Pendragon won the day; it was quite a slaughter of birds. They are far tastier than chickens, I think. Pendragon likes to leave the heads for his dogs.”

  I watched his face shift as he caught my meaning.

  “Such talk of hunting must stir your stomachs,” Elufed put in. “Come, come, now. Our grooms will see to the horses. Your men can clean themselves in the guest quarters before they join us in the hall.”

  Dunawd and Cynfelyn, Gwrgi and Peredur.

  Half the lords to the south had arrived at our door unannounced. The only notable lord in absence was Uther himself.

  When the last of the men had disappeared into the hall, Elufed turned to me. “That was foolish. You think you deliver a blow, but you only excite him. Unless you wish to be the woman I must deliver up, I suggest you be more careful what you say.”

  “Let him dare to touch me,” I said. But Elufed only scoffed, ushering me into the warmth.

  “You’ll want to warn them, of course you will,” she said in a whisper. “But don’t be too hasty. A messenger with no information is just as deadly as no messenger at all.”

  CHAPTER 45

  * * *

  I needn’t have worried about Gwrgi laying eyes on my Gladys, for no women at all were permitted in the great room that night. As we traveled down the corridor, we found ourselves suddenly moving against a great human tide of unwashed men as the warriors of Tutgual, Rhydderch, and the four southern lords were sent from the room. They parted—so as not to dare touch us—as we moved toward the door, and I caught the discernible hardening of Elufed’s face as her man-at-arms brushed past her, their eyes meeting with a solemn look.

  “Damn him,” she muttered. Tutgual had sent him away with all the others. There would be no chance of information coming to the queen.

  I saw a face I recognized and caught the sleeve of my husband’s man.

  “What is happening?” I whispered. He was Rhydderch’s kin and third in his guard. He’d always been kind.

  “The king has called a war council,” he said, nervous someone might hear.

  “A war council?” I said. “And what of my son? Is he in there still?”

  “Aye.” He gave a short nod. “His father will want him to witness, no doubt. You’ll pardon me now. We’re to wait in our quarters ’til they’re through.”

  He dipped his head and carried on, leaving me stunned in his wake. Elufed’s eyes were narrowed, fixed on the door as if she could see beyond it.

  “This can be nothing good. No such secrecy would be needed if there were trouble with the Angles,” I said, trying to stifle my panic. “Can you not discover something?”

  She turned to me with a stare. The king’s men yet moved all around us.

  Be quiet, her look said.

  I tugged at my plait as the corridor emptied of the last wa
rrior and we were left in eerie silence. Brodyn came to lean against the wall, his brown eyes watchful as we shifted anxiously between the weaving room and our chambers. An hour passed. There were no shouts of dissent. I waited on a thicket of stinging nettles as the low hum of voices carried on behind the heavy oaken doors. At last I shook my head and went to the guard barring the door.

  “My son is in there.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  “Well? When will he be coming out?”

  “Can’t say,” the man replied.

  “You cannot say, or you do not know?”

  “Can’t say,” he only repeated.

  “Of course you can’t,” I said angrily.

  War with the Scots wouldn’t bring lords from the south. If it were war with the Picts, our neighbors in Manau—the lords in the north—would be darkening our doorstep. Even as I reasoned, the sudden drop in my stomach cried louder than any logic.

  The crow had come, hadn’t it? Cathan’s bird, a sign from the Summerlands.

  I could deny it no longer. It could only mean war against Gwenddolau.

  War against my brothers.

  A sickness began to spread like poison as the reality of it settled.

  Rhydderch’s men thrusting spears against a shield wall held by Lailoken.

  Rhys bracing against blows from Dragon Warriors he’d sparred with at Cadzow only seasons ago.

  Maelgwn cutting through man after man to protect Angharad, his weapon perhaps even slashing his own boy.

  Brother against brother.

  Uncle against nephew.

  Father against son . . .

  And in the middle of it all, Angharad, terrified and alone in the mad hell of war.

  Sweet Gods. I looked at Brodyn and turned for the stair, and he pressed off the wall to follow.

  The queen looked up then, turning to Aela and her own maid. “Wait outside Lady Languoreth’s chamber door. I will see to her.”

  The sudden silence was deafening as Elufed pressed my door shut behind the three of us. I placed my hand to my stomach, certain I would be sick.

  “They are planning an attack,” Brodyn said. “We must send word now. We cannot delay.”

  “I know we cannot delay. But what would you have me do?” I snapped. “If I warn my brothers, it will be Rhys who pays the price. If I fail to send warning, it will be Angharad whose life is in danger!”

  I tore my hands through my hair.

  “Sit. Calm yourself.” Elufed came and pressed me onto the bed. “This is no time to lose your head.”

  “I can go now,” Brodyn said. “You’ve only to say the word. We cannot worry for Rhys. I have trained him myself. He’s a strong warrior; he can fight. But what chance does Angharad, a girl of only eight, stand in a fortress besieged?”

  Tears were coming heavy now, and I lifted my head. “Brodyn, you ask me to choose between my children.”

  “Enough.” Elufed placed herself firmly between us. “Languoreth, you are right. Either choice brings a consequence. And you”—she thrust her palm against Brodyn’s chest—“do not be so eager to ride to your death.”

  A look passed between them, one of lovers. I had suspected as much for some time, but now I was certain.

  “Any man wishing to kill me would have to catch me first,” Brodyn replied, but his humor was gone.

  “Of course they will catch you,” Elufed snapped. “But even should you evade the notice of the sixscore warriors milling about our gate, you would only reach Pendragon hours, at best, before battle.”

  Elufed shivered. “It’s cold in here. Add more peat to the fire.”

  Brodyn frowned but crossed the room to do her bidding, his brow furrowed in thought.

  “Even if Brodyn can escape the front gate, there will be questions,” Elufed reasoned. “You, Languoreth, will be brought to blame. You’ll be locked up, and when Tutgual returns he will not hesitate to kill you. So the only real choice you must make is whether to send a messenger or no warning at all.”

  I stared at her. “How can you speak of this so evenly when the lives of my children are at stake?”

  “Because I have seen the Gods’ magic, even in times such as these. What is meant to be will come to pass,” she said.

  “I am sick to my core of the Gods and things meant to be and coming to pass,” I said angrily. “How many times has Cathan or my brother said the same? One envisioned my son burning in flames and the other has taken away my daughter. Why must they always take from me?” My voice broke. Elufed came to sit beside me.

  “I do not pity you,” she said. “I cannot know which circumstance will bring about catastrophe for either of the children. But you must make a decision, and quickly. Death comes for all of us; none can escape it. You must decide for yourself what you can live with.”

  She reached to smooth my hair, a perfunctory motion, but in it I felt love.

  “I know that you, too, have seen the benevolence of the Gods. You, too, have felt their magic. Spirit never dies, Languoreth. Just this morning it was Cathan himself who showed you as much, did he not?”

  I closed my eyes a long moment and tried to steady my breath. When I opened them, I had my answer.

  “I cannot live knowing I did not try to spare them,” I said, “no matter the consequence.”

  Brodyn cursed and tossed two hunks of peat on the fire. “Yes, but Elufed is right. I cannot go. It would only implicate you.”

  “Wait a moment.” I twisted my fingers, thinking. “There is yet one of my grooms in the stables. We took him in when I was little and he has always been loyal in return. His wife is with child. They live at the edge of town in a little hut by the wood. I can tell the guard he must go to her.”

  “A dangerous task for a stable hand,” Elufed said. “He would have to be convincing. And even so, it is two full days’ ride to the Borderlands.”

  “He is quite clever, and the stables will soon be in chaos readying the horses.”

  “And this groom,” Elufed said. “What makes you think you can trust him?”

  I set my jaw. “Loyalty, that’s what. You were not there that day. You did not see what I saw, what the Angles had done. He is not like Desdemona. If I entrust this man with a task, he will find a way.”

  “Then I shall pray to Epona that his horse may be swift. And you”—she looked at Brodyn—“you will be content to stay here?”

  “No, I am not content.” He paced. “I want to ride to the Borderlands and warn my brother. I want to fight. But if my absence would put Languoreth in harm’s way, I am left with no choice. We must have faith the Dragons can muster quickly if we send word right away.”

  “Then it is decided.” I rose and went to my chest of jewels, digging for my stash of silver and pulling it out, then stuffing the pouch into my pocket.

  “Brodyn,” I said, “lend me your brooch.”

  He unpinned the crest from his tunic and passed it to me.

  “Gwenddolau must know this man comes on my behalf. Otherwise I fear his life will be in danger.”

  “Of course,” he said. He watched the symbol of his loyalty disappear into my pocket, blinking.

  “Aela,” I called out, and she ducked through the door.

  “Yes, my lady?”

  “Will you fetch Cyan and Gladys? We have been cooped up too long. I’m sure the children are quite bored. We are going to feed the horses.”

  Gladys and Cyan were eager to go outdoors, even in the waning light, but the strangers skulking the grounds made them ill at ease.

  Cyan narrowed his eyes, inspecting their plaids and their brooches, their unkempt hair and their brutish eyes.

  “Where do these men come from, Mother?”

  They’d built a fire in the pit just beyond the courtyard and were gathered round, drinking our ale moodily and stamping their feet against the cold. I could feel their eyes tracking us, wary. They knew just who my brothers were. To which family I truly belonged.

  “They come from the south.”
I forced a smile. “And you must be polite, Cyan. These men are our guests.”

  “But what are our men doing out here in the cold?” Gladys asked, studying me. “Does this have something to do with the—”

  “Gladys.” I squeezed her hand. “Tell me which of the horses you shall visit first.”

  Gladys frowned but obliged, and as soon as we had passed out of earshot, I drew my children behind the cover of the orchard.

  “I want to tell you the truth, but I need you to bear it well. Can you do that?”

  My heart tightened as I watched their faces pale, but there was nothing to be done for it. Better that they knew the truth. They hesitated a moment, then nodded.

  “That is very good, because I will need both your trust and your help. The king has called a war council. We do not know what he is discussing, and may not for some time, but I believe they plan to wage war on your uncles.”

  “But Angharad is with them,” Gladys said. Cyan’s chest began to heave, his freckled face reddening in anger.

  “Yes, Angharad is with them, and too many others whom we love. We must warn them. I have a friend here, in the stables. But Tutgual has posted a guard at the stable door. He will not want any messages going in or out. And so you must act as if you are children feeding horses, and I must ask my friend if he will ride to the Borderlands with more haste than he has ever ridden before. If they have warning, if they have time . . .”

  I trailed off. I did not know if a warning would do any good—whose life it might save, if anyone’s—and I could not lie. I looked instead to Cyan, who was pressing his lips as he did when he was trying not to cry. “Cyan, my love. Tell me.”

  “And what of Rhys?” he said.

  I reached to fold his trembling fingers into my steady hands.

  “Rhys will ride with your father,” I said.

  Blink. Breathe. It must be done.

  Gladys shook her head as the horror seeped in. “But Father would never harm our uncle Lailoken. And Lailoken would never harm Rhys . . .” Her eyes pooled with tears, and I kissed her quickly.

  “Gladys, I know I ask a great deal. But right now we must complete this task. We must not cry. Back in our chambers, we will discuss this—all of it. We will cry ’til we are all wrung out. But right now we must speak with the guard, and he must admit us to the stable. Right now we must convince him that we know nothing of this, any of it, and that we are happy.”