Frost Against the Hilt (The Lion of Wales Book 5) Read online

  “That was kind of you, but you didn’t need to bribe them.” She poked him again, this time on the breastbone. “You keep forgetting that you are Ambrosius’s son.”

  “All the more reason not to do as I please when I please and expect everyone to fall all over themselves doing my bidding.”

  “I know you’re right.” Nell made a rueful face. “A dozen times just since the council meeting, people stopped before me and bowed as if I was already queen.”

  “We’ve both come a long way since the road to Denbigh.” Myrddin started kissing her again, wishing they could hold onto this moment forever and never have to leave. But thinking about returning to their duties would only ruin the time they did have together—and that he refused to do. Nell was his wife, and so far in their short marriage his opportunities to be her husband had been few and far between.

  Afterwards, he fingered his cross as it lay between her breasts. The blame for nearly all the good and bad that had happened to him in his life lay within its golden arms.

  Nell held the cross up by its long chain. “Just think if Huw’s mother hadn’t kept it, or if she hadn’t given it to him and told him to seek you out.”

  Myrddin pulled Nell close again, so that her head lay on his chest, and spoke the truth. “I have made many mistakes in my life, Nell. I’m sure I’ll continue to make more than my share. I should have returned to Brecon to see how Huw’s mother fared, but I can be grateful that he was raised well, even if I wasn’t the one to do the fathering.”

  Nell stroked his upper arm with one finger. “What are we to do, Myrddin?”

  He had no trouble following the change of subject and didn’t have to ask what she meant. Despite their quiet interlude, the coming battle remained at the forefront of his mind too. This evening had been a brief respite—a diversion—but they could hold off what was coming for only so long, and their two hours were almost at an end.

  “You are asking how we can avert what is to come?” he said. “Maybe King Arthur is right that we aren’t supposed to.”

  She pushed up onto one elbow so she could look down at him. “I refuse to believe that. Why show us what is to come if we can’t change it? What we are seeing now is too much like what we dreamed for all those years for me to agree with the king on this.”

  “I take your point. It is essentially what I said to the king.”

  “But you are not yet convinced yourself?” Nell said. “I admit I did wonder at our hubris to think we could change the future—especially once Gareth walked into the hall at Wroxeter and told Modred that you were dead. In that moment, I had to accept that everything we’d tried had come to nothing. But I was wrong about even that, so I’m thinking King Arthur is wrong about this too.”

  She was beautiful, bending over him in the half-darkness, their stall lit only by distant lanterns near the front of the stable. He took both of her hands in his. “We didn’t go to Caer Fawr as we dreamed, so what we do now is already different, but Modred is still coming.” He paused. “You see that too?”

  “When I was on the wall-walk before we met with Arthur and Cador, I saw Arthur die again by Modred’s hand. Even without that vision, I catch a flash every now and then of marching feet. It’s so real sometimes I turn my head to get a better look, only to find myself still inside the hall.”

  Myrddin nodded. “We may not have changed anything.”

  “We will change the dream if we don’t go to Modred’s camp,” Nell said.

  “In which case, Arthur will die.” Now he’d done it. He’d started her thinking about something besides him, which was clearly a huge mistake for him personally, but perhaps not for Wales.

  Nell sat up and wrapped the blanket around her shoulders to sit cross-legged at his side, with her elbow on one knee and her chin in her hand. “Modred has a huge army. We know that.”

  “We do.” He reclined on the bed, his hands clasped behind his head.

  “We know that the other lords of Mercia have chosen Modred to lead them because Wales is rich in land and livestock, and they want that richness for themselves. They think he can get it for them.”

  “Yes.”

  A curious look crossed Nell’s face. “But will they support him for the kingship after he wins?” Her eyes became fixed on Myrddin’s face. “Why would they be any less prone to infighting than we are? How many of them truly want Modred as a leader in a time of peace?”

  “I don’t pretend to understand the Saxon mind, but leadership to them devolves on the man who brings the most riches.”

  “Yes,” Nell said, “but everyone will want their share, won’t they?”

  “Modred isn’t going to want to share.” Myrddin’s eyes narrowed. “Who among the Saxons might have thought that far ahead?”

  “Any lord with any sense, which means that the enemy of my enemy—” She broke off.

  “—might be a friend.” Myrddin was on his feet in an instant. He snatched up his breeches and began to shove his feet into the legs. “We can get Arthur the men he needs.”

  Nell stretched across the blankets to where her clothing had been discarded. Grabbing her shift, she pulled it over her head. “Who are you thinking of?”

  “True rivals of Modred. Men like Cynyr of Wessex or—” Myrddin stopped and grimaced. “I hate even to say it.”

  “You speak of Urien of Rheged?” Nell said. Rheged was a British kingdom far to the north. Chester, known in Roman times as Deva, was its seat.

  Myrddin raised one shoulder. “At least he’s a Briton.”

  “After the death of Ambrosius—I still struggle to think of him as your father!—he opposed Arthur’s ascension to the high kingship and never pledged his fealty. He’s hardly an ally, despite marrying King Arthur’s cousin.”

  “He hates the Saxon advance as much as we do and has been fighting for his life against Bernicia and Deira, two of the more northern Saxon kingdoms. He might fight for us if it meant more land for him when we win.” Myrddin wrinkled his chin. “He has many men at his disposal.”

  “That he does,” Nell said, “but could we trust him not to betray Arthur at the last moment?”

  “He might see King Arthur as the lesser of two evils, as I know he has no love for Modred either. Arthur might prefer an appeal to him over an alliance with another Saxon, who will not remain faithful once he has what he wants. That was the mistake Vortigern made. Besides, Urien is older than Arthur, and the son is not the father. Urien might realize that he has to make some concessions to ensure that Owain has something to inherit.”

  “You know Owain?” Nell said.

  “He owes me money.”

  Nell laughed. “Will I ever cease to be surprised by you?”

  Myrddin grinned. “God forbid.”

  “How did that come about?”

  “Owain, like Arthur when he was younger, had a habit of moving among his men disguised as a man-at-arms. He joined a game my friends and I were playing. This must have been five or six years ago when we were fighting a Saxon incursion near Chester. That was before Modred began his rebellion, and Owain was only twenty. I’m sure he’s smarter now.”

  “You won and then forgave the debt,” Nell said, not as a question.

  “I did so the moment one of his guards leaned in to whisper in my ear who he was,” Myrddin said. “He had no money on him and swore he’d pay me in the morning, but I refused it. Of course I did. His father would have wanted to know what had become of those coins. On top of which, Urien is surrounded by priests, who forbid gambling.”

  “That would be because Roman soldiers gambled at the base of the cross during the Crucifixion,” Nell said, reverting very briefly to the nun she’d once been. “Urien would not have looked favorably upon a son who gambles, not even in the cause of better knowing his men.”

  “For my purposes, the gratitude of a king’s heir was worth far more to me than a few coins. What need had I of money when I could have that?”

  “Clever.”

  Myrddi
n put his hand to Nell’s jaw and pulled her in for a kiss. “Your new husband is not entirely without merit, is that it?”

  She laughed, but then almost immediately sobered. “We should speak to the king.”

  Myrddin grimaced. “We have, at most, three days before Modred comes. I assume his spies have informed him by now where we went, but he has many men to move.”

  “Caer Caradoc is a stronger fortress than I had thought,” Nell said. “As it turns out, King Arthur chose his refuge well.”

  Myrddin nodded. “You and I, meanwhile, can take the Roman road to Chester. Even from here, we can be there by morning.”

  “It’s fifty miles!” Nell said.

  “Then the sooner we ride, the sooner we’ll be there.” Myrddin narrowed his eyes at her. “You’re not saying you want me to go without you?”

  “No! Heaven forbid I leave you alone for a single hour. Who knows what mischief you might get into?”

  Myrddin laughed. “I could easily say the same about you.”

  “The king isn’t going to like you leaving,” Nell said.

  “We’ll see.”

  A quarter of an hour later, having collected Huw from where he’d been sleeping with other young men, who had, without anyone saying anything as far Myrddin could tell, become his guards, they were admitted into the king’s room in the barracks. He hadn’t been asleep—Myrddin wasn’t entirely sure Arthur ever slept—but he had at least been resting. He blinked at the sight of Myrddin and Nell dressed for traveling.

  “I have a feeling I’m not going to like whatever you have to say,” the king said.

  Huw frowned. “I suspect I won’t either. What are you doing, Father?”

  “Nell and I have had an idea,” Myrddin said.

  “A seeing?” Arthur said.

  “No, actually, not that,” Nell said. “It is more that we have come to a conclusion based on all that we’ve seen and heard over the last few days.”

  Myrddin took up the explanation. “It occurs to us that other lords might view the coming battle with skepticism. We know that we have to commit everything to it, but the Saxons might be warier and find they don’t trust Modred’s motives as much as they once did.”

  “He has their men,” Arthur said.

  “Yes, but for how long?” Nell said. “Modred leads them now, and he hopes to claim all Wales for Mercia, but the lords of the other Saxon kingdoms—of Wessex, Kent, Deira—can’t be happy with the amount of power doing so will gather to him.”

  “You want to reach out to those lords.” King Arthur understood immediately. He hadn’t become king by being slow of mind.

  “We do. More, we were thinking specifically of Urien of Rheged,” Myrddin said.

  Arthur hesitated. “He is British.”

  “Thus he would be the most likely ally, don’t you think?” Nell said. “I saw some of his men in Wroxeter, but not nearly as many as he has or could have sent. His commitment to Modred didn’t extend so far as to come himself.”

  “I noticed that too.” Arthur rubbed his chin.

  “There’s something else about Wroxeter that has occurred to me since we last talked.” Huw didn’t often participate in these free-wheeling conversations of his elders, so the fact that he was speaking at all pleased Myrddin, and he turned to him.

  “Tell us.”

  “It has to do with what Modred is hiding,” Huw said. “Are we convinced from what Archbishop Dafydd told us that he and Modred came to an agreement to the effect that Modred would spare the king’s life if at all possible?”

  “Yes.” Arthur eyes were fixed on the young man.

  “One of those promises seems to have been that he would open his court to you, my lord—his accounts, letters written to other warlords, and the like. Yes?”

  “Yes,” Arthur said again.

  “But that wasn’t to happen until the day after we arrived. Why the delay? Modred had come to the agreement before he knew that Beorhtsige had captured you, so at the time it was purely theoretical. Once you were actually at Wroxeter, however, Modred didn’t just give you free reign over his affairs. He needed time to hide something.”

  “The boy may be on to something.” Arthur paced to the window of his bedchamber and looked out, though in the darkness, there wasn’t much to see.

  “Could what he was hiding be what we’ve already guessed—letters, perhaps, from other Saxon lords saying that they are not coming or arguing against a particular course of action?” Nell said.

  “I imagine it’s worse than that,” Myrddin said. “More likely he’s out of money.”

  “And food, which is bought with money,” Huw said. “Maintaining all those men at Wroxeter can’t be cheap, but he doesn’t want to allow his men to ravage the countryside when it’s his own people he’d be stealing from.”

  King Arthur turned to look at the three of them. “That is why he’s coming. That is why he has pressed his advantage through the winter when all sane men know that winter is when you send your men home to starve on their own lands. Another month or two at most and the spring planting will take precedence. If he doesn’t move his army now, if he doesn’t win this war soon, by spring he won’t have an army.”

  “So what does that mean?” Huw said. “Do we stall?”

  “No.” Myrddin’s brow furrowed. “But perhaps we’re looking at this the wrong way round. We had to send out riders to call the men of Wales to us—of course, we did. But we should also be sending riders to the Saxon lords who ostensibly support Modred, arguing for why they shouldn’t.”

  King Arthur shook his head. “No, that’s where you’re wrong, and where you were right to think that Urien of Rheged is our only option. I have nothing to offer the Saxons. I will not give up one more inch of British soil.”

  “I’m not suggesting that you do,” Myrddin said. “It isn’t our land that’s for the taking—it’s Modred’s.”

  King Arthur stared at him with something approaching awe.

  “We have retreated. We have given ground year after year after year,” Myrddin said. “Maybe it really is time we stopped.”

  Chapter Seven

  15 December 537

  Huw

  Huw entered the hall for breakfast, intending to join some of his new friends—the wounded Alan among them, since he was immobile until his ankle healed—but it was the sight of Anwen standing against a far wall that drew him. The eve of battle was hardly a time to form a new friendship, but then … perhaps it was the best time. Huw hadn’t dallied much with women, nor befriended many in his life. Like many children born out of wedlock, he was reluctant to father a child into such a state himself.

  “You changed your clothes.” He looked her up and down. She had bathed and now wore a dress, deep green in color, which set off her hair and skin beautifully. He found himself hoping that she would consent to wear female clothing more often. She looked less fierce with her hair curling around her shoulders.

  Anwen smiled. “I am a woman, my lord.”

  Huw coughed a laugh. “I did notice.”

  “My breeches are being laundered, and I had to restock my quiver. No point in wearing one that’s empty. Besides, my uncle would prefer I go unarmed in the hall.”

  “Most lords prefer that. Even a knight doesn’t wear his sword to the king’s table.” He gave her a little bow. “Thanks to your uncle, I now have one to leave at the door.”

  Anwen lifted her chin to indicate the people behind Huw. “They watch and judge.”

  He didn’t turn around. “I know. I am not yet accustomed to it.”

  “I think that’s for the best. Too many princes act as if they earned their station.” She tipped her head to look at him. “You don’t.”

  “That would be because up until a few days ago, I didn’t know who I was.”

  “Yes, you did. That’s my whole point. You know who you are without being a prince.”

  Huw looked down at the ground, humbled by her assessment of him. Before he could make some
sort of reply, however, he found himself being nudged in the ribs by Osgar, one of the men with whom he’d fled Wroxeter. “The king wants you with him, my lord.”

  Ducking his head to Anwen in a half-embarrassed nod, Huw made his way across the hall to the dais. It wasn’t as if he’d never sat at the high table before. He’d dined there yesterday evening after the meeting of the king’s council, such as it was. But his parents had been with him and, since it was Myrddin who was the long-lost heir to the throne, it was to him that most of the attention had been given.

  Myrddin and Nell were gone, however, riding to Chester to speak to Urien of Rheged about his choice of allegiance. Arthur had also sent an emissary to Cynric of Wessex, but that was a far longer journey than the one Myrddin and Nell were undertaking. If Urien marched at dawn, he would be hard pressed to reach Caer Caradoc in time to fight on Arthur’s behalf. With twice that distance to go for Cynric, he wouldn’t make it unless the battle lasted far longer than either Arthur or Modred could afford to fight it.

  “Are you worried, son?” King Arthur tipped his head to indicate that Huw should take the seat next to him. “Your parents have experience taking care of themselves.”

  “What if my father is not received as the son of Ambrosius should be?” Huw said. “Urien did not support your claim to the throne, but to deny Myrddin’s right to it would be tantamount to treason. Urien might prefer to simply kill him, and then he doesn’t have to face his own iniquity.”

  “I am glad you speak plainly. I always need to hear the truth from you. You, as much as your father, are my heir. One day you will be high king,” Arthur laughed under his breath, “if we can keep ourselves together beyond the next few days.”

  “Modred will never be King of the Britons,” Huw said. “That was another lesson from Myrddin’s and Nell’s dream. Even if all three of us fall, the lords of Wales will never accept him. They might temporarily submit, but he will spend the rest of his life fighting them.”

  King Arthur pressed his lips together in a thin smile. “I never would have thought that our penchant for infighting would be an advantage. Modred is right to fear us.” But then he really did smile. “When you first came to your father, I worried that your Saxon upbringing might have made you arrogant, and that you would disparage the British part of your heritage as Modred does. He doesn’t want to rule Wales for its own sake because he loves it. He wants to rule it to make it Saxon, as most of the rest of Britain has been made Saxon.”