Cold My Heart: A Novel of King Arthur Read online

  “My name is Myrddin. I serve King Arthur. I escorted the Lord Aelric to St. Asaph yesterday afternoon, and was preparing to return when I came upon you.”

  That sounded reasonable to Nell. Despite her fears about this journey and the notion of having anything to do with any man, she gave in to relief. At last, some of the horror of the attack drained away and she rested her forehead between Myrddin’s shoulder blades. “Thank you,” she said. “I haven’t thanked you yet.”

  “Are you . . . much hurt?”

  “I was terrified of the men, panicked beyond all measure, but they didn’t rape me if that’s what you’re asking.”

  The word rape twisted on her lips and she shuddered into Myrddin’s back, but she was glad she’d used it. They didn’t need to dance around the question now.

  “Praise God,” Myrddin said. “Why were you traveling that road? Alone?”

  “I had a family, once,” Nell said, “and sons, although they’re all dead now. I’ve not spent my life behind stone walls. I have no one who depends on me, no husband, and no desire ever to have one again. With nothing to tie me to Anglesey, I saw no reason why I shouldn’t travel where I wished.”

  “In the middle of a war,” Myrddin said.

  Nell’s hackles rose at the distrust in his voice. “What do you mean?”

  “What could have possessed you to travel so far on your own, unless it was for some nefarious purpose?” he said. “I saved you from genuine peril, but even spies can find themselves in over their heads when they meet men more devious than they.”

  “What? You can’t mean that.” Nell found laughter mingling with a mixture of incredulity and hysteria. Then again, she too could imagine a scenario in which a woman such as she imparted information about King Arthur’s movements to the men who attacked her, only to have them decide she’d outlived her usefulness.

  “Convince me otherwise,” Myrddin said.

  Nell thought for a moment, sure she couldn’t tell him the whole truth—not about the dreams or that she knew him from them—but she could tell him something. “Our abbess died during the summer, just before the Saxons came. The new one the Archbishop appointed was . . .” she paused, searching for a word that would convey the truth but wasn’t as stark as ‘an idiot’ . . . “ineffective.”

  “What was your role?” Myrddin said. “Were you the prioress?”

  “I was the infirmarer,” Nell said.

  “So you left,” he said. “All by yourself.”

  “I did,” she said. “And nearly paid for my stupidity with my life.”

  “But why were you at St. Asaph?” Myrddin said. “After dark?”

  “That close to so many fortified towns, I thought I’d be safe.”

  “You were safe—from masterless men—but not from Modred’s men.”

  “I intended to seek shelter at the convent at Rhuddlan,” Nell said. “I had another hour to walk, no more.”

  “An hour that proved your undoing,” Myrddin said. “You should have sheltered instead at the convent at Conwy, south of Caerhun.”

  “I couldn’t—” Nell paused, trying to explain what she’d come to understand, though she’d never articulated it to herself. “You misunderstand. I wasn’t going to stay at the convent at Rhuddlan. I can’t go back to that life.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I took vows, I know, but I chose the convent when I was so angry at God I couldn’t bear to live with myself anywhere else.”

  Myrddin barked a laugh. “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “It did to me; it does to me.” She paused again. “It wasn’t God who burned Llanfaes and killed my sisters.”

  “Some would say God allowed it to happ—”

  Nell cut him off. “Don’t be a child. With Llanfaes burned, my sisters dead or worse, not just the Abbey, but my life lies in ashes around my feet. I’ve come to realize that I will not rebuild it again as a nun.”

  “The entire world has turned upside down these last months,” Myrddin said, nodding. “A clear path is hard for anyone to see.”

  Nell could only agree with that. She lowered her voice, less because she was afraid it would carry than because of the force of the emotion behind it. “I hate the Saxons, so much so I fear I’ll be consumed by it. Yet I’m afraid of them also, and of the future they represent.”

  Myrddin’s hand found hers at his waist and squeezed. “It burns through me too.”

  The pair rode through the night, the downpour turning into a gentle rain in the early hours of the morning. Still, the rain had soaked them through and Nell was glad when Myrddin turned into the entrance of the fort in the murky light that preceded sunrise. She checked the sky, thinking that if they left Caerhun shortly after noon, they could travel the ten miles to Garth Celyn before darkness fell. Desperation rose within her at the thought of journeying all the way back to a point just shy of the one from which she’d started. Then she had a moment of stark clarity: she would never leave Gwynedd now. She would have to ride this war out in Eryri, in the very castle from which King Arthur governed.

  Myrddin brought Cadfarch to a halt. “There’ll be provisions and dry cloaks to borrow here.”

  Nell accepted Myrddin’s help dismounting but once on the ground, hesitated. She looked toward the central hall, some thirty paces away, and then back at Myrddin.

  “You can wait for me inside.” Myrddin started to lead Cadfarch away.

  “No.” Nell moved to walk beside him. “No, I can’t.”

  Myrddin stopped and Nell strode past him, heading towards the stables. “Nell—”

  She ignored him. Once inside, Myrddin, still shaking his head at her, unbuckled the saddle bags and Cadfarch’s saddle. Nell picked up a brush and began to work at the horse’s mane. The motion felt good after the long ride. Her muscles were stiffened and sore. As she worked, she sensed Myrddin watching her out of the corner of his eye. She could tell he wasn’t sure what to say to her, or if he should say anything at all. Nell decided that since she already knew everything a woman needed to know about what kind of man he was—even without the clarity of her dreams—he knew nothing of her and she would save him from his perplexity.

  “My mother died at my birth.” She moved the brush to Cadfarch’s legs. The horse closed his eyes, absorbing the treatment Nell was giving him. “My father didn’t marry again nor have other children.” She glanced up at Myrddin, a half-smile on her lips. “He saw no reason why I shouldn’t become familiar with horses.”

  “Where was this?” Myrddin rested his forearm along Cadfarch’s back and leaned on it, watching her face.

  “In Powys,” she said. “My father had a small holding along the Irfon River. We were never wealthy, but lived well for all that.”

  “And your husband? You said you had one.”

  “I married at fifteen,” she said. “My two sons were born and died before I was twenty; then, my husband was killed in a minor skirmish ten years ago.”

  “So you went into a convent,” Myrddin said.

  “I did.”

  “A common enough decision,” Myrddin said, “but why so far from Powys?”

  “My father had died; the Saxons had confiscated his lands. I’d lived among them for most of my life, but my father supported King Arthur and had taught me to support him too.”

  Myrddin tipped his head, acknowledging her admission of allegiance even if he didn’t necessarily believe it, especially since she’d now confessed that she’d grown up among the Saxons. They finished grooming Cadfarch, still not in accord, and crossed the courtyard, entering the main building through a side door. It led to a hall, forty feet on a side, with long tables for dining or congregating. The smell of cooking wafted through a far doorway, indicating an adjacent cookhouse.

  “Myrddin! You look well!” A stocky man dressed in mail armor much like Myrddin’s appeared from the kitchens and strolled towards them. Also like Myrddin, his broad shoulders told her he’d worn that armor for his entire, adult life
.

  “I disbelieve you, Rhodri, since I haven’t slept in far too long,” Myrddin replied, by way of a greeting.

  Rhodri laughed.

  Myrddin placed a hand at the small of Nell’s back, pushing her forward with him as he walked towards Rhodri. “We need food and rest and a place to dry our cloaks, if we may. We must return to Garth Celyn before the sun sets.”

  “Done.” Rhodri grinned. “As long as you tell me one piece of news.”

  “That I can do,” Myrddin said.

  Rhodri seated himself at the end of one of the long tables. Nell pushed back the hood of Myrddin’s cloak and went to stand by the fire, her back to the heat. She met Myrddin’s eyes across the distance that separated them and realized he’d been observing her, his lips pursed.

  “And we need dry clothes,” Myrddin said.

  “We’ll start there.” Rhodri looked Myrddin up and down. Myrddin’s surcoat was still damp, the water glistening on the links of his mail. Rhodri jerked his head in the direction of a side doorway. “Help yourself.”

  Myrddin tipped his head to Nell and she followed him to a supply room, reached by a narrow hallway. Once inside, she stopped, uncertain, but Myrddin had everything in hand. “I’ve been here before.” He lifted up the lid of a trunk which held a variety of garments. “And been in need before.”

  “I wouldn’t mind hearing that story some day,” Nell said.

  Myrddin shot her a grin and then turned back to the trunk. “This will have to do.” He tossed her an ugly, grey dress.

  Nell caught it, gazing first at it and then at him. He turned to face away from her to give her a measure of privacy and tears pricked at her eyes at his understanding. Hastily, she wiped them away before stripping off his cloak and the torn dress she’d worn continually since she’d borrowed it from the young novice whose fate Nell couldn’t bear to think on.

  When she’d finished, Myrddin swung around to look at her. He grunted. “I don’t like it. The color doesn’t suit you and it’s too big. We’ll find you better at Garth Celyn.”

  Nell had regained control over herself by then and tipped her head in what she hoped was calm acceptance. “At least it’s in one piece.”

  Then, not entirely sure of herself, Nell moved forward to help him remove his armor. Myrddin accepted her touch with equanimity, even as he studied her with his calm, hazel eyes that revealed nothing of the thoughts behind them. When Nell traced with one finger the long scar that ran the length of his bottom left rib, Myrddin shrugged. “An errant knife. A small matter, considering what it could have been.”

  Up close and without his armor, Myrddin proved to be less squat and taller than her first impression, with long rangy limbs, albeit thick shoulders and neck from years of swordplay. For lack of a satchel, Nell wrapped Myrddin’s armor in his wet surcoat. A squire at Garth Celyn would polish the links so they wouldn’t rust. Then, while Myrddin dressed, Nell busied herself in returning the contents of the chest that Myrddin had upended to their place so that she needn’t look at him.

  “Ready?” Myrddin straightened and adjusted his sword at his waist.

  Nell looked up and nodded. Myrddin took his armor from her, tucking it under one arm, and led the way back to the dining hall.

  In their absence, the daughter of the garrison captain, a girl just entering womanhood, had put together a meal. Once they were seated, she laid a trencher in front of Nell and Myrddin and set a cup beside it. She assumed that they’d share, which was not out of the ordinary, but the action revealed to Nell that both the girl and Rhodri believed that Nell belonged to Myrddin. Nell gave Myrddin a quick glance, wondering if he knew it too. He was focused on Rhodri so didn’t see her look, and then Nell decided that an explanation to the contrary was not in order. They could think what they liked. She could stand to ride pillion a little longer.

  “I brought Lord Aelric as far as St. Asaph last night,” Myrddin said, oblivious to Nell and her concerns. “The discussions between Modred and King Arthur continue.”

  “So we have a few days’ breathing space.” Rhodri nodded. To Nell, he added, “Modred, when he attacks Eryri, will come through here.”

  Nell had known that. Modred’s intent was to open two fronts in Eryri, splitting King Arthur’s forces and attention. Wulfere would attack from Anglesey and Modred himself from the east, along the very road on which Nell and Myrddin had traveled. But while the army on Anglesey had been in position for months, Modred had faced resistance all along the border between Mercia and Gwynedd which had delayed the combined assault.

  Then, when all was in readiness to advance across the Conwy River, Archbishop Dafydd had stepped in. He’d been working on a peace settlement between King Arthur and Modred since the middle of October, loathe to have uncle and nephew fighting each other and despoiling Wales between them. Lord Aelric had merely delivered the latest missive.

  “Indeed,” Myrddin said. “Archbishop Dafydd has not given up, but I’ve no news beyond that. We met no Saxons on the road, once we headed west from St. Asaph.”

  “I’ll tell the captain,” Rhodri said, standing.

  Rhodri departed, leaving Nell and Myrddin alone with their simple meal of bread, cheese, boiled onions, and sweet mead. Myrddin ate the fresh food with gusto. Nell, in contrast, picked at hers.

  “You all right?” Myrddin asked between mouthfuls.

  Nell pushed the trencher more towards him, having eaten only three or four bites. Over the last two days, it seemed the nervous pit in her stomach had become permanent. It wasn’t going to go away just because she was behind stone walls and ostensibly safe. “I’m more tired than hungry.”

  Myrddin nodded and hurried through the rest of the meal. Rhodri hadn’t returned by the time he finished, so, once again, Nell followed Myrddin out of the hall. This time, he led her up a staircase to the sleeping rooms set aside for guests. On the floor of one room lay six pallets, blankets folded at the end of each.

  “You may sleep here,” Myrddin said.

  Nell took a few hesitant steps into the room and then looked to where Myrddin lounged in the doorway, one shoulder braced against the frame. “What about you?”

  “I’ll bunk in the barracks across the courtyard.” He tipped his head to indicate their general direction.

  “No!” The word burst from Nell, but once said, she didn’t want to take it back.

  Myrddin blinked and straightened, dropping his hands to his sides. “What?”

  “I can’t stay here without you,” Nell said, surprising herself with how important this had become to her. “Please don’t leave me alone.”

  Myrddin gaped at her. “You ask the impossible, Nell. I can’t sleep in the same room as you!”

  “Please, Myrddin,” she said. “I can’t—” She choked on the words. Once again, the terrors of the last three days which she’d been holding at bay threatened to overwhelm her and she buried her face in her hands.

  “All right; all right,” Myrddin said, one hand out to her. “I don’t mind. I can sleep anywhere, but you must be certain. Last week you were a nun, and today . . .” He stopped.

  Nell let the silence stretch between them while she took several deep breaths to calm herself. “Today I’m not.” She walked to one of the pallets which was set against a far wall and sat down on it. She pointed to a second pallet near where Myrddin stood. “Could you shut the door and move the pallet to block it? If you sleep across it . . .” Her voice trailed off.

  After a final, long look, Myrddin nodded. “I can sleep here,” he said, although his expression told her otherwise. It was as if he was concerned, curious, and amused all at the same time.

  Comforted that he would stay, regardless of what he really thought, Nell lay down, turned her back on Myrddin, and pulled the blanket to her chin.

  * * * * *

  Myrddin breathed in the high moorland air, pungent with the smell of dried grass, juniper, and agrimony, patches of which grew all along the road. They’d reached a point where they w
ere still well above the farmlands of the Aber river valley, but could see all the way to the Irish Sea. The water showed grey-blue and reflected the clouds that had begun to blow in from the west.

  “It’s so peaceful up here,” Nell said. “Not like down below.” She removed a hand from Myrddin’s waist and gestured towards the island of Anglesey, which squatted in the distance. Myrddin squinted, but couldn’t see anything more than a grey smudge on the horizon. “The Saxons plan to conquer Eryri next and we can’t let them. They will move soon.”

  Myrddin turned in the saddle, trying to see her face. “Do you know that for a fact?”

  “The ferryman at Bangor took me across the Menai Straits on the evening of November 2nd, not long after Wulfere’s men—” Nell swallowed and then continued as if the words weren’t poisoning her heart, “found my sisters. But he only helped me because he was ferrying himself across. He felt an ill wind blowing and didn’t want to be caught in the middle of it. He didn’t intend to return to the island until it was over.”

  “You speak of Wulfere. Does he still head the Saxon forces?” Myrddin asked.

  “Yes,” Nell said. “The people of Anglesey call him ‘the pig’.”

  As before when Nell had spoken of the atrocities at the convent, Myrddin sensed that if she were less well-bred, she would have spit on the ground rather than speak his name.

  “If anyone deserves it, Wulfere does,” Myrddin said. “He once chopped off a man’s hand for failing to give him his carafe of wine as quickly as he liked.”

  “May he burn in hell for what he did to my sisters,” Nell said.

  “I will see to it if I can,” Myrddin said. “Before I left yesterday morning, King Arthur’s scouts were reporting unusual activity on and near the bridge of boats. When they come, we’ll be ready.”

  In fact, one of Arthur’s many spies had told him that Wulfere had become frustrated by the delay, openly commenting that Modred lacked sufficient courage to fight King Arthur when it came to it, and sought a way to force Modred’s hand. Arthur believed that soon Wulfere would order his men across the Straits, hoping for a surprise attack and a swift victory. Instead, he would find himself facing an army of Welshmen. Myrddin could already hear the screams of dying men, blood coating them and him, taste salt and sand on his lips as the wind spit surf into his face, and feel again the slick thrust of his sword through an enemy’s flesh.