M. K. Hume [King Arthur Trilogy 04] The Last Dragon (63 page)

An excited, disciplined band set forth after a hurried meal of cold porridge and a handful of nuts. A spirit of fervour and anticipation hummed through the ranks as the men mounted and the party greeted the day as something new and special.

Arthur was glad they had eaten the meagre breakfast, for their journey was slowed by regular guard checks, although the Cornovii warriors never broke their cover in the fringes of the trees. ‘The Saxons and Jutes must have been on the prowl recently if our identities are being checked so often when they know we are coming,’ Eamonn muttered after they had been stopped for the fourth time in less than an hour.

‘Father speaks the Saxon language fluently, as I do, but he has pointed out that if he could pretend to be a Saxon, then they could learn our language and pretend to be tribal warriors,’ Arthur replied. ‘My father is a very cautious man, so he thinks ahead and trusts few people other than family and close friends.’

But all journeys come to an end. A little after noon, Arthur saw the crown of his own oak tree through a gap in the forest and knew that the palisades were near. So suddenly that the newcomers were left blinking, the forest released them from its heart into the open meadows around his home. The fallow fields were thick with grass and wild flowers, and grazing cows watched with incurious eyes as the troop passed.

‘There they are! The palisades of Arden,’ Arthur shouted, and pointed. Bedwyr’s hall lay at the centre of the cleared meadows, most of which were under cultivation: another indication of Saxon raids in the area of Arden, since it must mean that trade was much reduced. The gates were open and there was Bedwyr, grizzled and bent, but grinning through his beard like a crazy man. Arthur could also see Elayne, her face streaming tears and a new streak of white in her red-gold hair. His siblings were waving madly, their faces glowing with health and the boys capering like acrobats at a fair.

‘They’ve grown so tall!’ Arthur marvelled in a whisper. Then he realised he had been gone rather longer than he had intended, and his brothers and sisters were almost fully grown.

One small form stood separate from the others. Maeve, the youngest daughter, stood off to one side. Even from this distance Arthur could see that, at eleven, she was tall for her age and her hair was crimson-red, a strange colour that flamed in the afternoon sun.

‘You have returned, Arthur,’ Bedwyr said softly, his eyes moist with tears. ‘I am so very proud of you. Look at you! You are a man by any measurement. Come, introduce me to your friends and then you can join your mother. She has longed for your return, my boy, fearful that some disaster might have caused you lasting harm.’

Eamonn dismounted. ‘Go to your mother, Arthur. I can introduce our party to Lord Bedwyr with pride, for he is the greatest living man in Britain.’

Arthur nodded, and hurried through the gates to where Elayne waited with her heart in her eyes.

‘I didn’t think I’d see you before the onset of winter, if then.’ There was not the faintest trace of self-pity or complaint in her voice. Instead, Arthur saw a great relief and joy that he had come, no matter how brief the visit. As he picked her up in his strong, manly arms until her feet dangled and she wound her arms round his neck, Arthur was amazed at how small and light she had become, as if a breath of wind could blow her away like thistledown. His heart beat faster when he saw the greyness in her hair, and he suddenly realised that his mother had grown old.

‘All things eventually come to an end, my son. I’m just so happy that you’ve returned home, even if it’s only for a short visit.’ Tears formed in her eyes, and it was as well he had no way of knowing what her true feelings had been when she had seen him striding towards her with the sun behind him.

My Artor has come again, she had thought tremulously, her heart in her mouth. Oh, my beloved, it has been so long since we spoke together.

Then she looked at him again with her sun-dazzled eyes and realised it was her son who was holding her, her son who was kissing her soft wrinkled throat, and the spell was broken.

‘You’ve grown, Lasair,’ Arthur said cheerfully as he turned to the seventeen-year-old boy who hovered at his mother’s shoulder. The lad stood as tall as Bedwyr and his shock of brown hair showed a corona of red from the sun. The young man flushed and gripped his brother’s hand until Arthur put his mother down, laughed, and ruffled Lasair’s hair from his superior height. He began to regret the many months he had been absent, for time had transformed them from children into young men and women hovering on the brink of adulthood.

Only Maeve remained apart from the group. Like Blaise, she was only eleven years old, and she waited patiently to speak to her oldest brother in private. When the group walked towards the hall across the roughly flagged courtyard, she followed like a pale wraith, her eyes enormous in her small, triangular face.

As they crossed the threshold, followed by Bedwyr at the head of his guests, the Dumnonii guards were escorted to the Cornovii barracks where ale and good food waited, along with the opportunity for boasting about the Saxons they had slain. Maeve’s was the only serious face among the laughing, milling throng, and as Arthur tried to make his excuses to go to her he saw Blaise stop beside her. The two girls spoke quickly to each other, dark head close to red one, until Maeve nodded and took Blaise’s hand to lead her away to the children’s quarters.

‘Blaise has found a friend,’ Eamonn said as he approached Arthur from behind. ‘How very unusual!’

‘Yes. That’s Maeve, my youngest sister,’ Arthur replied thoughtfully as the young girls disappeared from view. ‘She’s a strange little thing. She’s very clever, but she’s so shy that you hardly notice she’s with you most of the time.’

Then Arthur forgot his sister and his Dumnonii responsibilities as his family demanded to hear everything about the marvels he had seen in the south. The boys were particularly eager to hear his news, for they longed to know the gruesome details of the battle for Calleva Atrebatum. The afternoon flew away on winged feet and Arthur experienced that most comforting of all supports, the closeness of a loving family.

And so night came.

‘Is it wise to travel to the wall at this time of year? The hive around old Eburacum will be stirring with Angles and Saxons aplenty. This Blaise is only a young girl, but she’s very clever and she’s already quite thick with Maeve.’ Elayne looked fondly at her son, who was sitting cross-legged on the plank floor and watching, engrossed, while she coaxed the washed wool onto her spindle. The sight of the spinning wool and the wooden wheel was entrancing as she pulled the wool upward while twisting and lengthening the fibres into a strong, slightly nobbled thread.

‘Oh, damn!’ she swore mildly with exasperation. ‘Nuala already outstrips me. Her thread is even and perfect, while mine . . . Still, your father says he likes my knitting and weaving precisely because it has imperfections. He says he knows it is my hands that have worked the cloth and the flaws that come with it.’ She smiled as she thought of her husband. ‘He’s a dear, isn’t he?’ she murmured, and Arthur nodded. ‘But the dear man’s very old now. He’s even older than the High King was when he died, and he’s outlived every man he loved during his long life. The bone swelling is crippling him now, although he tries not to limp.’ Elayne’s face was sad, and yet beneath her worry and sorrow she was inured to the idea that her beloved husband would soon be lost to her.

‘Many who served my dear Artor have now lived far beyond the normal life span. I don’t know why this law of nature has been suspended in Bedwyr’s case. Perhaps the Dragon King imparted to him some of his own zest for living, and he’s certainly needed, just as the High King was, to lead our people through these troubled times of the Saxon invasions. Perhaps the good and quiet living that he enjoyed here in Arden has blessed him. But I do know that he is trying to send the children and me to his new settlement outside Deva. He’s been preparing for our move for years now, knowing that Arden will eventually be infiltrated and that our people will be forced to retreat to the west. The forest on the borders of the Deceangli and Ordovice lands is similar to our home here. Bedwyr says the change would be seamless, and although we’d still be guarding a frontier it would be some time before the Saxons penetrated so far west.’

Artor nodded, unable to speak for the lump in his throat.

‘But I’m going to stay here. He needs me, Arthur. I have no fear of death, because I’ll simply leave one room, pass through a door, and enter another. I should have died in the snowstorm when you were conceived, so I owe my life to God and that debt must eventually be paid.’ She brushed away a tear. ‘I have tried to use the years God has given me to help others and I plan to ensure that our people are kept safe here in the dangerous years that will soon be upon us. But they will need guidance and a strong right hand to protect them, and Lasair will have little time to gain the experience he needs to accept the responsibilities that will be placed on him as his father fails. Perhaps the younger children can be moved to safety, which will give Bedwyr some relief. But I’ll not leave him, and will support him always.’

‘Why are you confiding in me, Mother? What do you want me to do? I’m proud that you trust me, but I believe you need me to do something of importance for you. Am I correct?’

‘Yes, you are. You must convince your father that my plan will be the best course of action, complete your mission, and then hurry home. We will need your strong right hand, your courage and your steadfastness here in Arden Forest. Your brothers will have a desperate need for you if anything should happen to your father and me. They are still too young to understand the harsh realities of life, and even Lasair will need a guiding hand at first. Your greatest skill is your ability to see through to the heart of any problem, especially if you know the situation is critical. That skill will be sorely needed when Arden finally succumbs to the Saxons and your nephew’s kingdom is open to attack from the east.’

‘Bran will never listen to me,’ Arthur replied regretfully, his mouth clenched tight.

‘But Bran isn’t immortal. Ector will eventually rule in his father’s place, and he thinks of you with fondness. He has assured me that he admires your loyalty and your martial skills. You’ll be able to protect my children at a time when no one else will have the capacity or the desire to do so.’

Arthur thought for a moment. His mother was asking little of him, and it would be an opportunity to repay Bedwyr for his unqualified love and trust.

‘Of course, Mother. I’ll do everything you ask. I’ll defend my brothers and sisters with my heart’s blood and I’ll do anything to ease Father’s last years. I promise that I’ll be back by winter, and only death will keep me away.’

Elayne shivered as if a goose had walked over her grave, for the old cliché might have had some truth. ‘I hope your heart’s blood won’t be needed, but I’ll sleep better knowing that you stand with us. Hurry on your journey. I envy Bors, being able to send his daughter to a place that is so well protected, but our situation can’t be helped and I think my plan is the best of several unpleasant options. Lasair will need persuasion to accede to my wishes, but together you and I will convince him.’

Then she reached up and kissed her son on the lips. ‘Bedwyr has told me of your exploits on the line outside of Calleva, Arthur. He said he saw Artor fight one last time when you were at the forefront of the battle, and he was so proud of you that he thought he’d burst. I’m proud of my son too, as is Artor from beyond the shadows. I can feel him sometimes, as if he watches over me from the corner of the room. He would have been so happy to see the man you’ve become.’

Then mother and son parted to go about their various duties. The Dumnonii party had only been in Arden for one day, but Arthur was already eager to depart. But first, he had some old friends to see and his mother’s first request to fulfil.

Germanus and Lorcan were due to arrive that afternoon. Germanus had retired from the life of a warrior and taken up a farm on the western edge of Arden with his wife. During the best part of a year since they had parted at Calleva Atrebatum, Germanus’s wife had borne a son who was the arms master’s pride and joy. He was coming for the evening family meal to see his erstwhile pupil.

Father Lorcan had distinguished himself among the wounded and dying after the battle of Calleva. No man perished in the tents of the healers without Lorcan by his side. He gave extreme unction to men who were Christian and heard the confessions of men who were not, interceding for them with their gods although, technically, his church frowned on the dissemination of such comfort. Always compassionate and prepared to make the rules of his order a little more elastic than was intended, Lorcan went from man to man, offering solace and writing letters, where possible, on pieces of vellum that he begged, borrowed or stole as the mood took him so that he could pass final messages from husbands and sons to widows and parents. Along the way, he worked hard with the healers, holding the hands of shattered, burned men and giving the most precious thing he possessed, his heart, to dying men, who went to their god or gods with cleaner souls as a result.

Since his return to Arden, Lorcan had divided his time between the people within the forest and those farmers and small villagers who sheltered on its margins. Imbued with new energy, he offered comfort as well as practical assistance to the frightened communities that depended on Arden, often assisting with the spring lambing if a farmer was unwell or helping with ploughing or farmyard tasks, especially for the older persons in his flock. But he was happy to assist anyone who needed his skills, even pagans. In the process, despite his disreputable appearance and rough tongue, he became universally loved.

Lorcan arrived early, so he and Arthur shared a mug of ale as Arthur explained his mission and recounted the experiences from which he had learned so much in the recent past.

‘You’ve had yourself a high time then, Arthur, and now you’re off to deliver a young girl to her betrothed. Good lad! By giving, we receive. I regret that I’ve been slow to remember the lessons I should have learned from the monks when I was still a young man, but I’m trying to rectify my deficiencies now.’