by Mary Yarde
Alden turned his back on the castle. If any man touched her, he would kill them very, very, slowly.
He knew what she was thinking; she thought he had played her false. He could not forget the look in her eyes when she had seen him kiss Lady Amandine’s hand — disbelief, pain, hurt, and betrayal — she did nothing to hide her emotions from him. Budic may have created the situation, but he was making it worse by his silence, especially after what Amandine had told him. He wanted to go to her, tell her she was mistaken and that he loved her still. But what good would that do?
Alden kicked at the snow in frustration. “She revoked the handfast.”
“Then do something about it,” John advised. “Before it is too late.”
“What do I do, John? I don’t know what to do anymore. What would you do?”
John blew on his hands. “Sometimes I forget you’re so young, you have been through so much already. Come on, lad. It is too cold out here on a night like this for bones as old as mine. Come inside and we will talk. We will find a solution to your problem.”
They sat around a wooden crate that had been turned upside down and was being used as a makeshift table. Bastian cleared the game he and John had been playing and came back with three goblets and a tankard of ale. The horse that Annis had groomed was munching contentedly on hay.
John sighed and sipped his ale. “Dear God, I miss your father,” he muttered. “It is an ache, here,” he pointed to his chest, “that never goes away.”
“He was a good man,” Bastian agreed.
“He was like you.” John pointed a finger at Alden. “He thought too much and he felt too much; and he wanted to please everybody, never thinking of himself. Little good it did him.”
“I don’t want to please Budic. Sometimes I think I want to —”
“Don’t say it,” Bastian warned. “When words are spoken they cannot be taken back.”
“I know. I just…” He shook his head and sipped his ale. He should be with his wife, waiting for her to tell him her wonderful news. Instead, he had heard he was going to be a father by another source. There was something else he was going to have to find out from another source, as well, for his father was no longer here to ask. “I heard something strange,” Alden began, still looking down at his ale, “about my father.” He raised his head and looked at John. “About a lost estate in the Foreigners Lands.”
John raised his eyebrows. “The Foreigners Lands, hey?” He coughed hard and took a moment to catch his breath; a sip of ale seemed to help.
“Yes,” Alden answered. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that?”
John and Bastian exchanged glances that immediately made Alden suspicious.
“John?” Alden prompted.
John blew out slowly through his mouth and put his goblet down on the makeshift table. “All right.” He cleared his throat. “There was an estate in Cameliard. A big one.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Alden, you do not need to know,” John answered. “Some things are best —”
“Damn it, man, I do. I have lost Cerniw; if my father was in a similar situation once, then I have the right to know about.” Alden slammed his goblet down on to the table.
John and Bastian exchanged another glance.
“Bastian?” Alden looked at the general of his brother’s army for answers. Bastian lowered his gaze and would not comment.
“Your father had an estate in Cameliard. He did,” John said. “It had been a gift from the High King, for an act of courage. That is what Arthur said, anyway, but those that were close to your father knew it was a type of blackmail to force cohesion.”
“Guinevere?” Alden spoke Arthur’s wife’s name.
John sighed heavily and for a moment, he looked his age. He slowly nodded his head. “Guinevere.” He whispered her name. “The estate had belonged to her father. He was a cruel man and had a sick mind. The vilest.” John raised his head and looked Alden in the eyes. “Your father killed him. Assassinated him.”
“Murdered him?” Alden asked, shocked, for his father was not the sort of man to commit murder.
“He deserved to die. Leodegrance of Cameliard was the epitome of evil. Can you remember him, Bastian?”
“Before my time, John,” Bastian reminded him. “But I heard the stories.”
“Well, I knew him. Not to speak to, of course, but I knew him. Your father was given Leodegrance’s estate after he had killed him.”
“Why did I not know any of this?” Alden asked in disbelief. “I thought I knew it all.”
“Thought wrong, then, didn’t you? Do not be hard on your father, Alden; all of us have secrets and private grieves. I remember Joyous Guard, which was the name of the estate. It was a pretty place; good grazing for sheep and a river a man could spend all day next to fishing. Your father loved it there; I know he did. We all did. He accepted the bribe. He thought…your father thought...” John shook his head. “He should not have accepted it; he should have turned Arthur down, but how was he to know what would happen next?”
“How did he lose it?” Alden asked, his mind reeling with what he was learning. He had thought he had known his father — apparently he had not.
“I can’t…” John grabbed his ale off the table and drank, wiped his mouth and placed the goblet back down again. “He lost it. Arthur took it back. That is all you need to know. I can’t — ”
“It happened after Badon Hill,” Bastian took up the story where John had left off, Alden might as well know it all now, “which, as you know, is when he and Arthur fell out. Arthur was not merciful. Joyous Guard had been left with a small defensive guard. Your father was here, under siege by the Saxons, when Arthur took her back. Arthur left not a soul alive.” Bastian snorted. “You see, Arthur knew your father; he knew what would hurt him the most. Arthur deliberately targeted those who your father cared for or felt responsible for. It turned out that Arthur Pendragon was a heartless man, driven by ambition. Much like your new father-in-law. Perhaps Cerdic really does deserve the High Kingship.”
“What did my father do?”
“There was nothing he could do,” Bastian continued. “He was here. Benwick was an island; nothing could get in or out while the Saxon’s surrounded us. We did not learn of what had occurred in Cameliard until a good six months after it had happened. By then it was too late. It was a bad time.”
“He did not try to get it back?” Alden asked.
“There was nothing left to take back,” John answered solemnly. “I warned Lancelot, I warned him at the very beginning about Arthur, but he was taken in by the grandeur of the man.”
“Lancelot du Lac.” Alden rolled his father’s name across his tongue as he tried to understand all that he had heard.
No one spoke as the revelations floated in the minds of those around the table. Learning that his father had been in a similar hopeless situation gave him little comfort. As bad as it was for Lancelot all those years ago, he still had Brittany and he still had Benwick. Alden had nothing, not even a small plot of land that he could scrape a living by. He wished his father were still alive; he wished he could learn from his father’s experience. What a waste it was to acquire so much knowledge, then die and it all be lost.
“I am doubting myself, John. I don’t know what to do for the best. I wish my father were here to help me, but he is not. You knew him well, John, so I come to you, hoping you will advise me as my father would have done.”
“Alden, I’m an old man.”
“Please, there is no one else for me to ask. I am responsible for Cerniw, for the fate of my people, and I know I have to find a way to help them. I have vowed that I will. But let’s not pretend that Budic’s promise of soldiers is going to amount to anything. Budic will find a reason for me not to have them.”
“He said you could have them,” Bastian said.
“You know as well as I, he did not mean that. Budic is fickle; he changes his mind as often as the weather.”
“You do not want to abandon your kingdom, I understand that. But without an army, you may not have a choice,” John said.
“Whatever happens, I cannot stay here indefinitely.”
“You could.”
“John.” Bastian’s warning was clear in how he spoke his friend’s name.
“Do not John me. You are thinking the same as I am.”
“And then there is Annis, my wife,” Alden continued, not liking John’s innuendos any more than Bastian did. He wasn’t a usurper.
“It is a muddle,” Bastian agreed, still frowning at John.
“I want her back by my side where she belongs.”
“Then take her back. Ignore the King’s command,” Bastian stated bluntly. “That is what you want us to say, isn’t it?”
John had sat back against the wall and was watching Alden with narrowed eyes, as if he was taking his measure. “A kingdom is all well and good, but it does not keep a man warm at night.”
“Poverty does not either,” Alden pointed out.
“Talk to the Queen,” Bastian said. “Be nice, Alden. Get her on your side. Budic is not a man to be ignored, but if you could get Anna to take your side on the matter, then she may be able to help you. She does have influence over her husband.”
“No man has influence over Budic,” Alden said.
“I wasn’t talking about a man, I was talking about the Queen,” Bastian stated bluntly.
“He has a point,” John said.
“I am not in a position to speak to the Queen. I have no right. The most that has ever passed between us is polite conversation in regards to each other’s health. Besides, I do not like the woman; there is something about her. She would suspect in an instant.”
“Of course she would suspect,” John said. “But that does not mean she does not want the same thing as you do. She is a shrewd lady. She can see what having you here in Brittany is doing to her husband and her household. She will want you gone, and I bet my life that she would willingly do anything to appease her husband. She cannot give him an heir. You are a threat, Alden. You are a legitimate threat to the throne. And the longer you are here, the more of a threat you become.”
“That is enough, John,” Bastian snapped, rising and pacing to where the horse stood. “Do not listen to him. He is an old man who has lost his mind.”
“I am old, yes, but I know what I speak of.”
“The way I see it, the only option I have is to travel to Sussex, meet Natanleod, and join his army.”
“What is to say that Natanleod and Cerdic have not already met? What if you are too late and the battle has been decided?” Bastian asked.
“I do not know what is happening in Briton. I can only hope that I am not too late for the fight and if I am, I pray that Natanleod was victorious.”
“There is another way.”
“No, John, there isn’t,” Alden said, as he too rose from his seat. “I wish to God there was, but there isn’t. I will go back to Briton. There is nothing else I can do.”
19
Annis stood up on the table and draped some greenery over the crossed spears. She got down and frowned at her efforts. Her father celebrated Mothers Night, which involved a great deal of animal sacrifices to the gods and far too much boar and ale, but as for the Christian celebration of the birth of Christ, well, that was all new to her. Her father would have scoffed to see such foolishness. A feast was a demonstration of one’s wealth, a chance to impress. Bringing something as mundane as nature into the hall was ridiculous when one had tapestries and gold, but somehow this simplicity, this connection with the earth satisfied something in Annis. It was far simpler than watching animals die and eating until one felt sick, whilst trying to avoid all the men who had drunk too much.
Lady Josephine came to stand beside her and they both looked at her efforts. “Beautiful,” Josephine said. “Most impressive.”
Annis giggled, for it was anything but beautiful. “Why do you do this? I don’t understand.”
Josephine shrugged. “To celebrate the virgin birth, the Lord Jesus is our saviour. He was born in the lowliest of surroundings; there was no pomp or ceremony as befitting a king, but that didn’t matter, because he was who he was. A guiding star in the middle of winter.” Josephine picked up a sprig of holly from the table and twirled it around with her fingers. “A reminder in the darkest of days that there is hope. We are grateful that he was born.”
“Your saviour died a horrible death.”
“Yes, he did. But you are missing the point. Our saviour lived and when he died, he died for us. He sacrificed himself in order to deliver us.”
“Do you feel delivered?”
Josephine studied the holly. “I’m not sure.”
“I don’t understand,” Annis said again.
“Do you understand your gods?” Josephine smiled when Annis did not answer.
“Just enjoy the celebrations as best you can. Ah-ha, here is the person we need. Lady Amandine, can you fix this beautiful thingy Annis has created before anyone sees?”
Amandine walked towards them and stood next to Josephine and looked at Annis’s feeble attempts. She studied it for a moment. “Interesting,” she said with a sort of half-smile on her face. “Do you mind, Annis?”
“Please.” Annis held out her hand and helped Amandine climb on to the table, and then stepped back and watched as Amandine set to work. Amandine made it look so simple as she rearranged the greenery.
“I thought you were in mourning,” a shrill voice rang out from across the hall.
Amandine’s hand began to shake, Annis noticed, but she finished what she was doing and then slowly got down from the table and turned to face her adversary.
“And I thought you had gone home. Or has your husband decided to go on without you?” Amandine said, with a cool detachment of disinterest.
Annis saw Josephine bite her tongue as she tried not to laugh.
“You are a disgrace. Your husband is barely cold and here you are, getting ready to make merry.”
“She was helping me,” Annis said, jumping to her defence.
Lady Rosaline found something rather amusing about that statement. “Helping herself to your husband, more like. I’m sorry, I meant your ex-husband.” She smiled scornfully. “And who can blame her; she has already tasted a du Lac before, so it is no wonder she is keen for another bite. It is a secret fantasy of most of the women at court to have a du Lac — how can I say it without causing offence — in one’s bed. I wonder what Budic will do with you now?” she said, turning her attention back to Amandine. “I heard a whisper he was in talks with Lord Bretagne. A fine catch, Amandine; he cannot be a day over sixty, although I have heard that he still can, you know.”
“I think you have said enough,” Josephine said. Two angry streaks of red slashed both her cheeks and her eyes sparkled with outrage.
Lady Rosaline looked down her nose at Josephine. “The drunk’s daughter has no right to talk to me in that way. You forget yourself, Josephine.” She turned her attention on to Annis. “You should find yourself more prestigious company. They will only drag you down into the dirt with them.”
“Whereas you would help me fly with the birds?”
Lady Rosaline smiled, for she was too proud to understand sarcasm. “What a lovely turn of phrase. I shall have to remember it. Come.” She beckoned Annis forward and linked her arm through Annis’s and propelled her towards the door. “You know, the rumour is that Garren du Lac never came home again because he could not stand his wife.” Annis turned to look over her shoulder at Amandine, who had gone a deathly shade of white and had leant against the table.
“No, I had not heard that,” Annis stated.
“It is completely true, of course.”
“That is not what Alden says.” Annis stopped and took a step back away from Rosaline.
“Of course, he would not say a word against her. They were lovers when she was married to Garren. That is why Alden went looking for him. It was guilt, Annis, guilt. Bless your heart at your innocence. They love each other, they always have.”
“Do you delight in other people’s suffering?” Annis asked, taking another step back.
“Oh, I didn’t realise you loved him. Oh, how sweet, although I must say a little deluded. He would never love the woman whose father took his kingdom. He was using you as a means to an end.”
Annis raised her chin. “You know nothing about him or about me.”
“I know what they are saying, and that is enough. I can see you have joined the side of the rejected and the hopeless. I shall not waste any more of my time. I must away; my husband is anxious to go, although I am sorry I shall miss the celebrations. It is a shame Merton is dead, isn’t it, Josephine?”
Annis saw Amandine place a supporting hand on Josephine’s arm and she wondered about it.
Lady Rosaline smirked and then without another word, but with a swish of her skirt, she left the hall, banging the door behind her. Annis watched as Amandine reached for the table.
“She lies,” Amandine said. “Alden and I — we weren’t…we aren’t…” She paused and took a deep breath. “I loved him. I loved Garren so much. Excuse me.” Amandine ran passed Annis and out of the room.
“They are not,” Josephine said with a sigh, fighting back her own tears. “I saw what happened last night between the two of them. They were just dancing. It is not what you think. If he said he loved you, then he does.”