The Oaken Door (The Lion of Wales Book 2)

by Sarah Woodbury

  “The king is inside, waiting, but I’m impatient with Edgar. I expected him here by now,” Gawain said. “I think we need to leave this place.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said. “I’ll tell King Arthur.”

  I strode towards the door to the church, glad that Gawain had decided to follow his instincts. I reached the bottom step and was just beginning to mount the stairs when the world blew apart. An arrow whipped by my left ear. I ducked and spun around, my sword in my hand.

  “The king! The king!”

  The first time Myrddin woke, Huw sat beside his pallet. A low candle guttered in a dish on the floor, the light flickering and reflecting off the walls of the room. Someone—Nell, perhaps—had removed his boots and covered him with a wool blanket or three. Myrddin was warm enough, even if his nose was cold since the room was one of the few in the manor house without a fireplace.

  He rolled onto his back, noting that someone had also taken his cloak. He spared a thought for his armor, left behind at Rhuddlan, and reconciled himself to the knowledge that it was gone forever. He trusted that Arthur would see him properly protected when it came to it again.

  Pushing aside the changing dream and what it meant, Myrddin turned his head to study his son. Huw sat upright against the wall, his eyes closed. At Myrddin’s movement, Huw opened them.

  “Hello, Father.” He didn’t appear to mind saying it. Myrddin certainly wouldn’t ever grow tired of hearing it. He still couldn’t believe that Huw could be his.

  “What is the hour?” Myrddin said.

  “The chapel rang Matins not long ago,” Huw said. “Your friend, Nell, said she’d relieve me at Lauds.”

  “You don’t have to stay.”

  Huw shrugged. “After the events of the day, I doubt I could sleep anyway.” He smiled. “It’s an honor to watch over you.”

  His obvious admiration—a sharp contrast to his earlier near-hostility—confused Myrddin, until he considered a possible source. “Someone’s been talking.”

  “You have many friends,” Huw said. “Ifan, certainly, but Lord Geraint joined us for the evening meal. They spoke of you at length.”

  “Do not believe everything they say.”

  Huw laughed. “Ifan said you’d say that.”

  “He was there when your mother and I met. Did he speak of it?” Myrddin said.

  “Only that you were a squire in King Arthur’s company. You came to Brecon in the fall of 520,” Huw said. “But I knew that already from my mother.”

  “I was nineteen. Older than you, but in no way ready to be a father.” Myrddin looked at Huw. “Your mother must have known it.”

  “I believe she did, else, why keep you a secret? It isn’t as if you ever came looking for her again.”

  Christ. What do I say to that? “I did love her. I was careless with my heart and hers.”

  “And that’s your excuse?” Huw’s voice rose, and the admiration of a moment ago was forgotten in favor of long-suppressed resentment.

  “Is that why you came to find me?” Myrddin said. “To accuse me of abandoning your mother? Of abandoning you?”

  Huw looked down at his hands, clenched in his lap so tightly his knuckles whitened. Then he relaxed them, smoothing the palms on the fabric of his breeches.

  “Yes. My anger just now caught me unawares, but I’ve felt it ever since my mother told me the truth.”

  “I served my king,” Myrddin said. “I was with your mother in the fall and winter but even with the upheaval in Brecon the following year, King Arthur never called me south of Buellt again. It’s my fault that I never asked leave to go.” He paused, hesitating. The real truth shamed him; yet, at this late date, it was a truth from which he should not hide and which his son deserved. “And I did not ask to go because I was afraid to see your mother—I was afraid that she would ask for a commitment from me which I felt unable to give.”

  “Did you ever think of her?” Huw’s voice didn’t reveal anger now so much as pain.

  “I was a coward, Huw,” Myrddin said. “The longer I waited to see her, the worse the guilt. And after a year or two, I told myself that your mother would have forgotten me; that it was better for both of us if I didn’t return.” Huw didn’t answer straight away and so Myrddin added, his voice as gentle as he could make it, “For all that our acquaintance was short, your mother and I enjoyed each other’s company.”

  “My mother said as much to me.”

  “But she still never wanted you to know about me.”

  Huw shifted, discomfited. Myrddin sensed he’d only added to his son’s questions. “My father’s family has served Lord Cedric for many years. My—” he licked his lips, “—father was a knight to Cedric’s grandfather.” He paused and glanced at Myrddin, a rueful smile on his face.

  “Go on,” Myrddin said. “I know the history.”

  “After Badon, Lord Cedric’s family lost Brecon to King Arthur, but not their interest in it. My stepfather was often in the area,” Huw said. “He’d had his eye on my mother for some time. She was with you, and then she was with him. She wouldn’t tell me more than that.”

  Myrddin sighed, not even remembering the nineteen-year-old he’d been. It was so long ago, he had to wade through misty memory to catch a glimpse of those long ago battles. All Myrddin truly remembered of Tegwan was the hint of a laugh when he touched her, and his own eagerness.

  “I was a fool to let her go.” Myrddin noted the sturdy lankiness of his son and knowing how different all their lives would have been if he’d had as much courage in his personal life as on the battlefield.

  “I loved my father—my mother’s husband, but I’ve always been half-Welsh.” Huw turned his head to look at Myrddin, his face intent. “I have resented you, it’s true, but it is my hope that I will no longer have to be torn in two.”

  Myrddin had been a father to Huw for half a day and already the boy needed counseling. Myrddin didn’t know that he was the right one to give it, but as he was the only one available, he had no choice. “Help me to sit up.”

  Huw grasped Myrddin’s hand and hauled him to a sitting position. Myrddin swung his legs over the edge of the pallet so he could rest next to Huw, their backs to the wall. Myrddin reached for the water cup and took a long drink.

  “The world is not divided as simply as the lines between countries make us think.” Myrddin set down the cup. “You are full Welsh, by blood, but you were raised by a Saxon.”

  “Yes,” Huw said.

  “A man who loved you.”

  “Yes.” Huw paused and Myrddin let him say what he was feeling, not at all offended. “And I loved him.”

  “I’m glad,” Myrddin said. “If I wasn’t a father to you all these years, I would much rather you had a different father, than none at all.”

  “Was that how it was for you? You have no paternal name. You are just Myrddin.”

  “My mother took the name of my father to her grave,” Myrddin said. “Apparently, she never told him either—or he was dead too, before my birth.”

  “That must have been hard.”

  Myrddin was a bit surprised that Huw would speak to him of it. “It certainly made it difficult to dress me down as my betters would have liked.” Myrddin smiled. “Nobody could say, Myrddin ap Geraint ap Bedwyr, get over here!” As Myrddin hoped, Huw smiled too. “I was not unique, certainly. Many of my companions growing up had lost their fathers early in life.”

  “But they knew who they were,” Huw said.

  “Yes,” Myrddin said, “but as I had no choice, I didn’t dwell on it.” Myrddin paused. “Although, admittedly, I learned to fight almost before I could walk.”

  “And nobody seems to have any difficulty remembering who you are,” Huw said.

  Now Myrddin laughed. “Apparently not.”

  “When I began my search, I still called myself Huw ap Tomos, after my ... father,” Huw said. “But as I approached Gwynedd, I met more people who knew you, or had heard of you. They mentioned one battle in particular
, many years ago in the south, along the border with Mercia. You saved King Arthur’s life that day.”

  Myrddin nodded at his son. “The king knighted me after that. It’s his way to choose one man after each battle upon whom to confer the honor, and that day it was mine.”

  “I would like that for myself,” Huw said. “Or, at least, I always saw myself serving in my lord’s retinue. But now, I don’t know what I’m meant to do; whom I’m meant to be or which lord I should serve.”

  “If you live honorably within yourself, it doesn’t matter so much whom you serve,” Myrddin said. This was Huw’s real concern, and what had hovered over their conversation from the first.

  Huw turned his head to look at Myrddin. “You believe that?”

  Myrddin’s eyes crinkled at the corners, and his mouth twitched with sudden laughter, because Huw had caught him out. “Except in this case. If King Arthur loses this war, our country will fall to the Saxons. Modred cares only for himself and his own power—despite the fact that he himself is half-Welsh. He desires to completely subjugate my people—your people too—and all evidence suggests that he will settle for nothing less. Your lord, Cedric, knows this.”

  “Which is why he might be willing to ally himself with King Arthur,” Huw said.

  “Possibly,” Myrddin said. “Cedric fears that were Arthur to die, or lose this war, it will embolden Modred. Cedric himself does not possess such a high standing with Modred that he might not lose everything too.”

  “Even though he and Modred are cousins through their fathers.”

  “Yes.”

  “So you’re saying that it matters this time,” Huw said. “You’re saying that it has reached a point where I have to decide the greater loyalty.”

  “Yes, if Cedric sticks with Modred. You can’t both be Welsh and serve him. When Cedric himself freed me from Modred’s grasp, however, he took a step towards shifting allegiance. It is also possible that Modred wanted me free, but wanted me freed covertly.”

  “Lord Cedric ap Aelfric has always dealt forthrightly with his men,” Huw said, back to being a staunch supporter. “He is a good leader.”

  “I’ll grant you that, but I must warn you, my son, that not everyone in this castle trusts your motives.” Myrddin had deliberated with himself as to whether he should mention it, but the time seemed right.

  “They fear I would betray King Arthur?” Huw said, eyes wide, a typical youth who still saw everything in black and white instead of realizing the world was mottled shades of grey.

  “Think, Huw,” Myrddin said. “This shouldn’t surprise you. King Arthur has been betrayed by family, friends, and hidden foes more times than he can count. Is it any wonder some of his counselors would look askance at my newly claimed son who so conveniently rides to me from Brecon?”

  “I see your point.” Huw nodded, although Myrddin wasn’t sure if he quite did.

  “Just watch yourself,” Myrddin said. “Better to keep silent and your eyes open.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  They were quiet a moment, and then Huw spoke again. “It was only chance, you know, that had me risk crossing the Conwy River and entering Eryri.”

  “Chance?” Myrddin said.

  “In a tavern in Ruthin, I came upon a man who claimed to know you—or at least know the man whom the king knighted back in 525—but he told me you were dead. My heart fell. It seemed it was time to turn aside and return to Brecon.”

  “But you didn’t,” Myrddin said.

  Huw shook his head. “Later in the evening, an argument developed between the man to whom I’d spoken and another. That man accused the first of being a liar and a traitor. The latter owed fealty to Arthur while the first had supported his brother, Cai, throughout his years of treachery.” Huw glanced at Myrddin, his eyes thoughtful. “That was the tipping point. With my Lord Cedric on Anglesey, I was still free to search. I decided I wouldn’t take the word of one man who did not hold with your allegiance.”

  “Praise God for that,” Myrddin said.

  “So what happens now?” Huw said.

  “Cedric asked me to come to him at Brecon for the return of my horse. He isn’t ready to turn wholly away from Modred or turn to King Arthur. He intends, I think, to continue our discussion.”

  “Lord Cedric and his father once fought with Arthur.” Huw tipped his chin upwards and stared at the rafters.

  “They did,” Myrddin said. “God willing, Cedric will again. I hope that once I’ve healed, you and I can journey together to convince him to honor that history.”

  * * * * *

  Myrddin thought a single night at Garth Celyn should have been enough to heal him. Nell, on the other hand, was quite happy to have him more contained than usual. Bruised ribs could take weeks to mend. If they were right about what was coming for Wales and the king, Myrddin wasn’t going to have the luxury of that much time. At least he was mobile, even if he looked and felt terrible.

  The second evening back from Rhuddlan, Nell helped Myrddin hobble into the hall to share a meal with Ifan and Huw. The joy of Huw’s very existence filled Myrddin's heart each time he said my son, as if no man before him had ever had one. She could see it. It brought her nearly to tears every time—for Myrddin’s sake and because her own heart lifted at the thought of one of her long-dead sons walking through the door. Huw was only two years older than her Llelo would have been.

  They were halfway through the meal when instead of a beloved son, Deiniol pushed open the great doors and walked into the hall, an enormous grin on his face. Immediately behind him were Lord Gruffydd and his son, Owain. Cai, who’d been sitting at his place at the high table on Arthur’s right, rose to his feet. “By God, I prayed you’d come!”

  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 them 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 heartbeats before. Normally, Bedwyr, Arthur’s closest confident, sat next to him on the other side, but he hadn’t 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 headed 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 she also 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 she 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’ve had it rougher than I.”

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

  “Wa
s 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 held a cup in his hand and motioned to Deiniol with it, the same bemused 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 lips twitched. 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.”