Pendragon 02 Pendragon Banner (43 page)

On what had once been an immaculately
terraced lawn, but now sprouted more moss and weeds than grass, her two sons
were playing noisily with Llacheu’s young pup, a birthday gift
from Arthur. The dog was barking wildly, circling
the laughing
boys as they teased it to catch a dangling piece of
sacking.
Gwenhwyfar joined their laughter
as the animal leapt, catching
the thing in his teeth, and with much
growling, shook his catch furiously, then took off with it at a run, the boys
tumbling in squealing pursuit.

Someone added his laughter. Gwenhwyfar
turned, startled, half hoping that Arthur had come home, and saw Bedwyr
approaching. She stood, held her hands
outstretched to him
with a wide, pleased, smile of welcome.

‘
Bedwyr! I
had not expected your early return. How went the
hunting?’

‘
Well
enough for us to enjoy an excellent feast this evening!
God’s Grace, but
the weather is uncommonly pleasant for the
time
of year.’ He had reached her, took her hands, kissed her on
both cheeks. He screwed his eyes at the glare in
the pale-
washed, low-hanging winter
sun. ‘Though I grant the water has a film of ice on it of a morning.’ He still
had hold of her hands.

‘Bright and sunny it
might be, but I’ve grown cold sitting out
here.’
Gwenhwyfar retrieved her hands and threaded her arm through his for the benefit
of warmth and friendship. ‘Come, walk with me a while.’ Together, they
negotiated a flight of
foot-worn stone steps
and threaded their way along an
overgrown, winding path, Bedwyr kicking
aside evergreen shrubs and dead-leaved plants. They talked of minor things,
Bedwyr of the day’s hunting, Gwenhwyfar of Llacheu’s pup, of the garden, of the
horses wintering in the pastures beyond the Caer walls, of friends and family.
Once or twice, of Arthur. When Gwenhwyfar admitted that she regretted not
riding with
her husband, as he had asked of
her, Bedwyr stopped short and
placing
both hands over his heart, pretended to stagger
backwards. ‘What? You would be parted from me? Ah, but I am
sorely wounded.’ He turned away, threw his arm
against a tree,
imitated sobbing. ‘She wants to leave me, loves me not!’
Gwenhwyfar laughed, playfully slapped the
brown hair
growing thick and curled
on his head. ‘Fool!’ He was a burst of spring sunshine on a rainy day, always
laughing, always jesting
or telling
some amusing tale. The boys loved him. He was
almost one with them, for his merriment was that of a child.
She added, chuckling, ‘More like the departure of
my hand
maid would bring you grief, you rogue!’
Bedwyr feigned wounded innocence. ‘I am as pure as a nun’s
white
under-garments my Lady!’ Gwenhwyfar crumpled into deeper laughter, rethreaded
her
arm through his and walked him forward.
‘And how would you
be knowing of things such as a nun’s private apparel?’
They
turned onto a second path that skirted
the rear wall of the guest
chambers.
Bedwyr squeezed her hand, said low, almost into her ear, ‘Not all nuns are as
chaste as they would like us to assume.’
With a mock disapproving frown,
Gwenhwyfar brushed his
hand from hers. ‘I
say again, Bedwyr ap Ectha, you are a rogue!’
They had stopped once more, were standing close, their
laughter at
his absurdity dancing with the dappled afternoon
sunlight. Impulsive, Gwenhwyfar placed a light kiss on
Bedwyr’s
cheek, her hands resting on his chest. ‘You would cheer the dullest place,
Bedwyr. Glad I am that you are here.’ Suddenly serious, an experience rare in
one known for his quick laughter and constant humour, he replied, ‘Glad I am to
be here, my Lady,’ his brown eyes casting
direct into her green.

Her heart thump-thumped
with a leap of mixed feelings.
Alarm, excitement,
flattery. They were standing so close. If he
kissed
her, she would respond, kiss him back ... She caught
her breath, what
madness was this! Playfully, she pushed him from her, said with light gaiety, ‘You’d
have me believing you travelled all the way back from Rome just to be near me
next.’
Stunned, astonished, he replied, ‘But
I did! Why else would I
come to a place that is normally cold enough to
freeze a man’s balls off?’ He scooped her hand, brought it quickly to his lips.
‘For you, my beloved and fairest of all women, would I travel beyond the edge
of the world!’ He held his arms out, let them drop with a slap to his side,
added with an indifferent shrug, ‘Save, I would need to return by nightfall, or
else my Nessa would find some other to warm her bed.’ He cavorted a few
strides, then swept her a bow. ‘I am away to the bath-house,
assuming the water is hotter than the ice-pool it
was yester eve.
Till we dine, my Lady ...’ Gwenhwyfar watched him go,
walking jauntily, his arms
swinging, head
back, singing out of tune at the top of his voice.
He disappeared around
the corner. It had grown colder, the clouds were hustling the winter-blue sky,
crowding in great
packs of silver and
gold-edged shadow-shaded grey. She
gathered
her cloak tighter around her shoulders, shivered,
rubbed her hands
together. Her fingers were quite numb.

The harsh, unmelodious
call of a mobbed crow caused her to glance up and a movement at one of the
small, square windows
arrested
her attention. Someone had been watching!
Gwenhwyfar
sucked in her angry breath, released it slowly. Morgause. Spying on her, her
evil presence permeating even out here into the winter-straddled gardens.
Arthur ought never to have lodged her in the guest chambers. The prison cells,
or better still, an unmarked grave, was the more appropriate! But
no, Arthur had his own plan, his own decision, and
so
Morgause was made comfortable. The
ride back along the Wall,
returning
here to Caer Luel, had been tense, with an atmos
phere of hostility
between the two royal women. Gwenhwyfar
had
assumed Arthur would send Morgause to some distant place
for safe
holding and that they, with their boys, would ride to
some comfortable place for the duration of winter. Into
Gwynedd
for instance, returning with Enniaun or Cei, whose
wife lodged with her parents on the shores of Bala lake. But no,
her husband had decided to make this Caer their
winter
residence.

‘
Aye,
you bitch,’ she said, tossing her words up at the
window, ‘you think you can hold Arthur, tempt him with
your
beguiling smile. Well you try it, just
you try it!’ She swung away,
walked with quick steps back to the main
garden where she called to her sons that she was returning inside.

Morgause frightened her – Arthur was feared
of her too, though he would never admit it. Gwenhwyfar’s fear ran with a
personal dread, for Morgause was an alluring,
beautiful woman,
a woman who caught the eyes and lust of men. And Arthur
enjoyed beautiful women. She forced such
dark thoughts aside.
Rumour around the Caer was that he had gone away to
escape her, his wife, but it was not true. They had exchanged worse
quarrels than those hurled between them recently
about
Morgause – and the night together before he had left for the south
was far from disagreeable! She smiled at the intimate memory of their loving.
She should have gone with him – he had begged her to, but like a fool she had
refused. The thought of travelling in cold, wet winter weather had not
appealed, but then were things much better here at Caer Luel? Oh she would like
to know who it was who started all these vicious, spiteful rumours! The Caer
had been a welcoming
enough place before
Morgause had come. It was she who stirred
things, with her oh so seductive
smile! Gwenhwyfar banged through the door into the palace, startling the Watch
guard and drawing the attention of several servants. Let them gawp, they were
always so eager to think the worst and go tattling, skirts hitched, to tell
Morgause the latest gossip.

Arthur should have had her hung! She slowed
her wild pace as she came closer to her own
chamber.
Arthur should have had an end to her up in the
North, not brought her
here, or anywhere. She was trouble, Morgause.

§ LV

‘It is good
that we have patched our differences, Arthur.’ Arthur sniffed loudly, moved
aside to allow a woman to
squeeze past, wondered whether to voice his true thoughts at Ambrosius or
not. ‘Let us say we have agreed to tolerate each other.’ Ambrosius waved
greeting to an acquaintance, spoke briefly to another, nodding and smiling,
standing as though he were
some royal figure
receiving acclaim. Arthur knew several
people here, milling in the
forecourt before the amphitheatre, but liked none of them. One or two offered
ingratiating smiles, received no response for their effort. The noble residents
of
Aquae Sulis were a shallow lot, of
Ambrosius’s ilk. Pure
Roman,
clinging, determined, to their generations-bred life
style; Arthur held
no liking for them. The Council, concluded now, had at least been passably
worthwhile with some, small, public agreement reached. That was something.

He accepted wine from a
serving girl, sipped; it was tolerably
good
stuff. The play they were waiting to see was a bastion of
normality for this Roman town. Their theatre, their
games,
laws and rites, were unaltered
Roman. Aquae Sulis had not
been
terrorised by sea-wolves, and trade, dignity and superiority
still
flourished in abundance although the decay was creeping in. Cracking walls and
derelict buildings – even the famous bath-house had fallen into disrepair.

Ambrosius finished his conversation, turned
again to Arthur and said entirely unexpectedly, ‘Your wife is here, did you
know?’
Arthur swallowed quickly, a
heart-thud of surprised pleasure.
Gwenhwyfar?
Here after all? She had refused to come with him,
though he had asked,
almost pleaded; she said she had no wish to spend several weeks among pompous
old fools fussing and
farting over
irrelevancies. He peered about him, at the throng
of people, easing now
as they began to enter the theatre proper to take their seats. ‘Here literally
or here in town?’ he asked.

‘In town, though possibly attending this play
also, that I do not know. I
am
not well acquainted with the Lady
Winifred’s engagements.’ Expression souring, Arthur drained his goblet, handed
the
empty vessel to a passing slave.
Winifred. Not Gwenhwyfar. He
should have realised. Gwenhwyfar would have
come direct to
him, fool to have thought it
was her. Fool, to be so
disappointed.

‘
She has,
I believe,’ Ambrosius continued, beginning to
amble towards the
entrance, ‘brought your son with her.’ For a heartbeat Arthur almost hit him.
His fist had been clenched, begun to draw back ... but he took a deep breath,
forcibly relaxed his arm muscles, his fingers. ‘Winifred,’
he said,
with an over-politeness that screeched of his displeasure and
annoyance, ‘is not my wife.’ He met Ambrosius’s eyes, stared pointedly. ‘Until
you realise and accept that fact Ambrosius, there can never be, will never be,
an end to this animosity that slithers so potent between us.’ Ambrosius
Aurelianus was a tall man, though not as tall as Arthur. He returned the direct
gaze eye to eye, unflinching. After all, Arthur’s father Uthr, was his elder
brother, and Uthr
had glowered just as fiercely
on occasion. He probed the inside
of
his cheek with his tongue, dropped his gaze, spread his hands
in submission. ‘We are here to see fine actors, a
rare treat, let us
enjoy ourselves
this afternoon my nephew, not quarrel.’ He
took Arthur’s elbow, guided
him beneath the entrance arch.
They were
almost through, the tiers of filling seats rising ahead
of them, when Ambrosius added, ‘For what it is
worth,
Pendragon, I share your dislike of the woman and have no
intention, should some tragedy befall yourself, of allowing her breed-less son
access to a British title.’ Arthur stopped short, amazed. Had he heard aright
here?
Ambrosius had walked on a few paces.
He too stopped,
turned and smiled at
his nephew, eyes twinkling with a mixture
of amusement and threat. ‘You
see, I do not oppose you in everything, Arthur. Some things, I agree with
whole-hearted.
You must accept, mind, that
I may not recognise Gwenhwyfar’s
sons either.’ He gestured for Arthur to
proceed with him, indicating the crowd pressing behind. ‘Though I admit your
eldest, Llacheu, would, below myself, be obvious
choice to take
command – when he has become a man of course.’ Drily,
Arthur answered, ‘Of course.’ Ambrosius was threading his way along the row of
seats, found his, gestured for Arthur to be seated beside him.