Between Two Fires (11 page)

The King flashes Ahern a stern glance and leaves. I trail after Morgan, Ahern's footsteps following close behind. My torn and bloodied rags earn me more than a few curious stares from soldiers and servants throughout the halls, doubtlessly drawn out of hiding by my earlier screams. No one dares to meet the Hammer King's eye as he marches through the fortress, his metal greaves clacking loud as horse hooves along the stone floors. We wind our way up to my solar chamber where Malcolm and Arthwys await us. Like his brother, Prince Malcolm wears full armor and clutches his battle mace. The young boy rubs his red eyes. He has been crying. Ahern shuts the door behind me and stands watch outside. Where Una and Rowena have gotten to, I have no idea.

I splash cold water on my face from the washbasin before hiding behind my changing screen. The two men and young boy drink at the table while I strip out of my bloodied gown and put on a clean robe. Malcolm glances my way a moment before eyeing his elder brother.

“Well?”

“Dead,” Morgan replies. “Before I could question him.”

“Damn! I would have tortured him for days, whether he talked or not.”

“He would have talked,” Morgan replies grimly. “I'd have made him talk.”

Stepping out from behind my screen, I tighten my robes and approach my husband.

“You confined me to quarters with no explanation. Why not tell me of the assassin?”

“I do not always have time to explain my decrees, but I expect them to be followed.”

Morgan gives me a stern sidelong glance and I say no more. Husband or no, he rules as king in South Wales and his word is law for all subjects, including me. The Hammer King brings his fist down hard against the table and for a moment I fear he will strike one of us. Malcolm, Arthwys, and myself stand silent as statues. Morgan slumps down into his seat, his eyes glazed over in thought.

“At this moment, I trust no one outside this room,” he begins. “Someone has betrayed us.”

“Give us time and we'll weed out the traitor,” Malcolm replies. “We should raise an army.”

“And do what? Attack who? Winter approaches and my men have returned to their farms.”

Stepping between the brothers, I pour them each a new drink, trying to soothe their tempers. I pet Arthwys on the head, but the boy pushes away from me and sulks in the corner. Sighing, I let the child go. Will I ever be more than a stranger to him? My hands still tremble a touch, my nerves worn from my encounter with the assassin. If Ahern had not followed me, I would be cold as a corpse now. I pour myself a drink, quickly finishing the cup.

“The assassin had a Pictish tattoo,” I begin. “Who would hire a Pict?”

“Old Belin wed a Pict queen once,” Morgan recalls. “He has certain ties to those barbarians.”

“The old king's not fool enough to use a Pict!” Malcolm scoffs. “It's too suspicious.”

Morgan remains silent.

“You think someone used a Pict assassin to make it look like Belin was behind the attack?” I ask.

“The Blacksword is behind this,” Malcolm says with a growl. “I'd stake my life on it!”

“It could be the Saxons too,” I reply.

“Use your head, foolish girl!” my brother-in-law retorts. “There's no Saxons here. Someone from the gathering left an assassin behind after the council broke up. Artagan's had it out for us since we put a price on his head.”

“Is that why you fought with him last eve in the mead hall?”

Malcolm clenches his jaw, the skin around his left eye still swollen purple. I've only asked a simple question, yet my brother-in-law looks like he would like to take a crop to me. The King and the Prince exchange looks before Morgan intervenes.

“Last night doesn't concern you,” my husband says to me in a flat voice.

His rebuke stings and I speak out without thinking.

“If it's the reason why an assassin almost killed me today, then I believe it does concern me!”

“Mind your tongue, wife.”

“I can't help it. I'm just a
foolish girl
after all.”

Throwing Malcolm's words back at them both, I glare at each man until the meat behind my eyes hurts. I stomp out of the room, heading past Ahern and down the stairwell. Neither King nor Prince makes a move to stop me, continuing their privy council behind closed doors. With both of them using my chamber, I've no place to go for privacy, no room to shut out the prying eyes of servants and soldiers that fill the halls. Against my will, tears run down my cheeks, blurring my vision. I sit down in a deserted stairwell and dry my cheeks.

The horror of the assassin's knife renews itself again in my mind. All seventeen years of my life nearly came to an abrupt and bloody end, and with so much left undone. No children or family or whatever else I am supposed to want. I'd be replaced tomorrow by a new queen, and all the while the wise lords of Caerwent call me a foolish girl!

Gentle hands caress my shoulders. Rowena and Una sit on either side of me, wrapping a blanket around me as the three of us crouch in the stairwell. My sniffles gradually subside. Rowena offers me a hot mug of mint tea, neither woman asking me any questions. Whether a commoner or a queen, it goes without saying that a woman has little weight in a world of kings and knights. We are all chess pieces in the hands of men. Una smiles, trying to brighten my spirits.

“At least you're not lying on the floor while two big oafs brawl over you, m'lady.”

I fake a half-smile, recalling Una huddled on the ground between Malcolm and Artagan. I venture to see if Una will tell me the truth about last evening. No lords or knights can overhear us now.

“My husband would not tell me what the fight between his brother and Artagan was about.”

“Small wonder, it was over me.”

“I don't understand.”

“Prince Malcolm has a wandering eye. I did not reciprocate his …
advances
last evening.”

“I feared as much,” I reply, cradling her bruised forearm. “And he actually did this to you?”

“Sir Artagan saw and told the Prince to leave me be. The rest of the fight you saw yourself.”

My head begins to hurt. Malcolm certainly has a taste for servant girls; Morgan chides him about it often enough. Nonetheless, I had hoped I was somehow wrong about my brother-in-law's transgressions. Yet Una's purple welts are damning proof that Malcolm is indeed the kind of man to force himself upon a maiden. Why would Artagan Blacksword, of all people, defend Una? That doesn't sound like the act of a cattle thief and a purported violator of women, as my husband accuses him of being.

Rowena adds her own bit of common sense as she leans closer to Una.

“Them two probably just wanted an excuse to get at each other. You was just the spark that set them off.”

“It was enough to dissolve the council from convening again,” I add. “That spark dashes any hopes of an alliance against the Saxons, and brings us no closer to discovering who tried to have me kidnapped or assassinated.”

Assassinated. The word rings in my ears. It's as though I'm talking about someone else, somebody far away. But this is my life we're talking about and there's no guarantee it will have a happy ending. I almost lost my life today and nothing under heaven could have brought me back. I reach out and clasp Rowena tightly by the hand, my fist trembling in hers. The words spill out of me before I can stop them.

“I'm so scared, Rowena,” I confess, biting my lip. “God help me, I'm scared.”

She pats my hand, sidling closer beside me. Una hangs her head in sympathy with us. Perhaps I burden these two serving girls with my tales of woe, but they're the only women in the entire kingdom I can talk to. I've known Rowena only a few moons, and Una is practically a stranger, yet I trust them as much as Padraig or Ahern. Odd and inexplicable as that may seem, my heartstrings will burst asunder if I don't confess my fears to someone. Rowena pats my hand.

“There, there, m'lady.” Rowena smiles. “You're not alone. You got loyal folk like Una and myself, and powerful men like your father and husband to protect you.”

“But it is because of my relationships to men such as Father and my husband that my life is in peril,” I reply. “Both of them scheming and plotting, not caring who gets hurt.”

Rowena shrugs.

“Me Pa oft took a stick to me whether I 'twas good or bad. Especially after me Mum died of the plague one winter. But I lived through it and through all the fellows trying to put their paws on me when I worked at the castle back in Caerleon.”

Una looks up, her voice faint and unsteady at first.

“Leastways you two had parents,” Una begins. “Saxons took both of mine, and did worse to me before I got away. Being a scullery maid doesn't erase the nightmares of what they did to my village.”

Both women exchange looks, taking the other's hand.

“You see, your ladyship,” Rowena says to me with a sniffle. “We be plenty scared too. We just push on best we can. Haven't much choice really.”

I straighten my spine as I draw in a deep breath, the tears from earlier already dry on my skin. What a self-centered fool I've been, brooding over my own misfortunes when these two women have endured just as much as I or worse in their young lives. Beaten, manhandled, and God knows what else, yet they persevere despite their hardships. I squeeze Rowena's fingers with one hand and Una's in the other.

“The Abbot once told me that no one can be brave if they aren't first scared. So at least the three of us can all be brave together.”

Both girls beam back at me.

“Well, fret no more, m'lady,” Rowena replies in a jovial voice. “We'll share your bed from now on so as you're ne'er alone, and I'll sleep with a poker in one hand and a kitchen knife under the mattress.”

“I feel safer already.” I grin.

All three of us laugh, but in truth Rowena's words comfort me better than any tonic. Until I married, I never feared assassins, mainly because no one paid much heed to an ugly daughter living along the crags of Dyfed. Only now do I see that no matter what I do, I must live my life under perpetual threats both from within and without. Such is the burden of a queen.

*   *   *

Her black doll's eyes gaze back at me. Perched atop my gloved arm, the spotted brown plumage of the falcon stands out against the gray sky. Padraig tells me that female falcons are the most prized. Stronger and faster than the males, she-falcons also hunt better and produce healthy broods. The Abbot calls this particular variety of falcon a Merlin. Standing atop the uppermost tower bastion of Caerwent, I survey the ivy fields, quicksilver rivers, and dark woods beyond. With a flick of my wrist, I release the Merlin, her cry piercing the heavens as she dives to earth far below.

“Good!” Padraig says beside me. “She has taken to you, Your Grace.”

“Only because you've taught me how to handle her so well,” I reply. “I think I'll call her Vivian.”

“Vivian, my Queen?”

“After my mother.”

The falcon descends through the air, gliding over the meadows in search of prey. Her tapered wings spread wide as she circles the fields below. I sigh. What a joy to soar like that, to be so light and free.

Someone clears his throat behind us atop the tower bastion. King Morgan lingers in the shadowy archway. Padraig politely excuses himself.

I wish the Abbot would stay. Morgan has visited my bed infrequently these last few weeks, and never to stay the night. I shiver in my cloak as the autumn winds run their fingers through my dark hair.

“I've a request, my Queen.”

“Not an order?” I snap, still peeved by our last conversation after the assassin attack.

“My easternmost vassal, Lord Griffith, requests additional troops to watch the borders.”

“So send him some.”

“I've none to send. Most men in my army serve in summer, returning home for winter.”

“So what do you need from me, my liege?”

“I want you to go to Lord Griffith's fort in my stead.”

My green eyes narrow on my husband's brown-bearded face. He seems serious. From the corner of my eye, I see that Vivian still circles the meads below. I pace around my husband, keeping my gaze to my feet.

“Why not go yourself? You're his king.”

“Peasants in one of my other cantrefs refuse to send their yearly tithes of bread and grain, so I must take what few men I have and go there to set things aright.”

“And you would send me on this important errand to Lord Griffith instead of Malcolm?”

“Malcolm sails for Cornwall. I've an offer for him to wed a Cornish lord's daughter.”

He points at a ship heading downriver toward the estuary and the sea beyond. A small sail disappears on the horizon and Prince Malcolm with it. So, Morgan has decided his wild-oats brother needs to settle down after all. An alliance with Cornwall would behoove Morgan's growing kingdom as well. My husband always thinks of everything from multiple angles.

But none of this explains what I ought to do if I go to see Lord Griffith. I've heard the man guards a small fort along the Forest of Dean beside the Sabrina River, the extreme eastern edge of the South Welsh kingdom. Saxons lurk on the opposite shore there. I shake my head, knowing that my presence alone will not satisfy a war-captain who has asked his king for reinforcements.

“If your vassal asks for troops, he won't be happy with just me. What do I tell him?”

“Your royal presence will calm him and assure him I have his interests at heart. Besides, he doesn't need any new troops now. It's halfway through autumn and the fighting season is over. Living on the border with the Saxons makes Lord Griffith jumpy. He sees Saxons in his soup.”

“Why me, Morgan?”

“You've a calm head and I believe you will do well. Besides, it's a chance to get out of the castle walls for a change.”