The sentry licked his lips and shuffled his feet, but made no move to obey. “My lord—”
“Well?” Maelgon cried, slamming his tankard on the table.
“My lord, I cannot. He is a King’s man.” The sentry looked nervously at Arthur, and Maelgon glared at him, but at length, having no choice, waved his hand in assent.
Into the room walked a slim youth in a plain tunic, bearing himself like a soldier, and showing neither fear nor awe. When he approached Arthur I gasped aloud. It was Mordred! Arthur rose, and Mordred bent his knee.
“My lord King.”
“Arise, Mordred. You have a message for me?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Is it a private message?”
“No, my lord. It may be publicly given.”
“Who sent you?”
“I don’t know the man’s name, my lord. But I know that he is a Druid from Mona’s Isle, and the message is from the Archdruid Salowen.”
“And how did you come to be the bearer of this message?”
“I was in the town with some soldiers when a boy approached me and took me to this man who had the message.” Then he lifted his face to Arthur and flashed him a quick look full of pride and love, before dropping his gaze to the floor once more. “I put myself in the way of it,” he murmured.
Arthur did not move, but I sensed his pleasure and approval as surely as if I had seen him embrace the boy. “Give me the message.”
Mordred stood very straight and closed his eyes to get it word for word. “Salowen, leader of the Sacred Order, who serves the Goddess in Nemet and walks between the standing stones, sends greetings to Arthur, High King of Britain. Hear this, King of men. The Great Goddess has been raped by heathen murderers and cries aloud for vengeance. Before the new moon falls from the sky, death will fall upon Gwynedd.” Here the men stirred, and Maelgon would have spoken, but Arthur lifted a hand, keeping his eyes on Mordred’s face, and they were still. “Because the High King has shown himself to be a just man, Salowen will speak with him, if he wills. But not so long as he lives beneath the roof of Maelgon the Murderer, or eats his food or drinks his wine. Let the High King remove to Caer Narfon with no protection but his own troops, and Salowen shall meet him at his pleasure.”
Mordred opened his eyes and looked up at Arthur. “That is the message, my lord. But the man told me that every night and every day until the new moon, Mona shall be invisible to men, that none may find it.” All around the table men crossed themselves, but Arthur looked with pride upon Mordred. It took courage to recite that message before Maelgon himself, and I could see the boy’s legs were shaking. Arthur thanked him gravely and sent him back to the barracks with an escort.
As soon as the door shut behind Mordred, Maelgon spoke. “If the Druid approached him, my lord, the boy must be a pagan himself.”
Arthur, still standing, turned. “Yes.”
“Did you know this? Why did you bring him here? Only Christians are welcome in Gwynedd.”
A hush fell over the company. More than one of Arthur’s men knew that Mordred was his son. For a long moment Arthur said nothing. When he spoke at last, the very gentleness of his voice revealed the depth of his anger. “I choose my soldiers, Maelgon, for the strength of their sword arms, not for the names they call their gods. If you wish to contest this, say so. We can settle this tonight. Sword against sword.”
Maelgon blanched. He knew now that the High King was willing to wage war over the Druids. He glanced hopefully at Lancelot, but Lancelot’s eyes were on Arthur, awaiting a signal.
“Of—of course my lord is welcome to choose his soldiers by any standard he deems fitting,” Maelgon stammered hastily. “But in Gwynedd we are all Christian.”
“I am glad to know it,” Arthur replied evenly. “Let every Christian keep the commandment to love his neighbor as himself, and we need worry no longer about who is pagan and who is not.”
Maelgon opened his mouth to object, but found everyone staring at him and thought better of it. Swiftly Arthur leaned across the table until he breathed into Maelgon’s face.
“If aught happens to that boy while we are in Gwynedd, you shall answer to me with your life. I promise it.”
Maelgon drew away and Arthur straightened. The moment passed before anyone knew what had happened, yet fear swept the room. Alyse and Anet huddled together. The sweat stood out on Lancelot’s brow.
Someone broke the silence with a nervous cough, and Maelgon bowed his head. “As you wish, my lord King.”
Appeased, Arthur took his seat and signaled the wine bearer. Relief loosened everyone’s tongue and soon the hall was noisy with conversation.
“What did he mean about the isle becoming invisible?”
“It is an old Druid trick. But half their power is in the minds of their believers.”
“What do you mean? What trick?”
“The calling of the mists. Old Salowen’s a master at it. He doesn’t mean the isle will disappear, just that he will shroud it in mist so you can’t see it from shore. That’s all.”
“It’s true! I was fishing out past the point in the coracle at dusk and saw a great mist creep off the sea in the west!”
“Well, don’t excite yourself. The isle is still there. You have only to go through the mist to find it.”
“Go through a Druid’s mist? Who would dare?”
“My lord Arthur,” Maelgon said loudly, stilling the other voices. “Do you intend to leave for Caer Narfon to meet with Salowen? I assure you, I will not stand in your way.”
Lancelot lifted his goblet to hide a smile. Arthur, straight-faced, answered politely. “Thank you, King Maelgon, but I will see Salowen at my leisure. And it would be a shame to leave so soon, after the hospitality you and your good queen have provided us. We will stay until we have feasted our honored guest. We await Fion.”
Maelgon shrugged rudely and left it there, but it was obvious to anyone with eyes that he was furious. It was a relief to me when Anet rose to lead us out. I only hoped that she had sense enough to know better than to ask Maelgon for her blue-fleeced sheep tonight.
Three days later we had another messenger. Arthur, Maelgon, and most of the men were out hunting when Maelgon’s scouts brought in a young man in ragged clothing, bound at the wrists and beaten to senselessness. They threw him in the dungeon to await Maelgon’s return. I learned of this through Ailsa, who had been dozing near a window when he was brought in. I went at once to Anet and let her know if it. She stared at me blankly.
“Surely, my lady, we can wait to know who he is until Maelgon returns.”
I sent her women from the room and sat her down. “This is an opportunity for you to do great good, Anet. And to increase your power. At Camelot, I visit the dungeons almost daily to speak with the men there. Not to console them, but simply to be kind. I do not need to see that they are not mistreated. Arthur is a fair man. But he wishes those he must imprison to learn from their mistakes and not to leave with a grudge against his judgment. I simply go to see them, and be seen by them, and listen to their complaints. We do not have many who return, once they are freed.”
“You want me to go see this man?” She began to tremble, and I held her hand firmly.
“I will go with you. If he is a messenger, which is what Ailsa thinks, it is wrong to imprison him.”
“You want me to free him?” Anet whimpered. “Oh, no!”
“No, you cannot free him. But at least you can see that he is not cruelly treated. You have the right. This is your domain.” I sat beside her and spoke more gently. “They have taken his weapons, if he had any, Anet. You cannot come to harm. Maelgon’s sentries will obey you. Why not? It will be like the gardeners, you will see. Come, let us go now.”
Anet went unwillingly, only because she could not deny me. The sentries looked astonished to see her, but to a man they bent their knees and let us pass. We found the prisoner senseless on the dirt floor, his hands still bound, a filthy gag in his mouth. He wa
s a mere youth with his beard just beginning. In the corner of his tiny cell two rats sat boldly watching him. To my surprise, Anet hardly noticed the vermin. It told me something about the convent.
At her order, given in a shaking voice, the guards unbound the boy, removed the gag, and washed his face. It was all we could do for him, and it was little enough. But the change it wrought in Anet was wonderful. She grew excited at her power to ministrate to the needy, and boldly asked the guard to send to her the scouts who had brought him in. Astonished, the guard demurred, until I murmured sweetly that King Arthur was expecting a messenger, and we hoped with all our hearts that this was not the man. The guard broke into a sweat and said at once he would send for the scouts.
When we were back in the fresh air of the garden, I hugged Anet and kissed her for joy. “Well done! Well done, Queen Anet! I could not have done it better myself!”
She colored and then said eagerly, “It was so easy! That poor youth! He is hardly more than a boy, and they beat him so!”
“They probably think he is pagan. Perhaps he is. Here in Gwynedd, that seems to be enough.”
“Do you think Maelgon will be offended, when he hears?”
“That you had his face washed? Can he be that petty?” Then, because I knew the answer to that, I hurried on. “You know, Anet, that every queen has the power to give protection to those who ask it of her. In old Celtic law, not even your husband could violate that protection. Because it is a powerful weapon, you must use it wisely and sparingly. But if you do not use it, you give up the right.”
“But this man has not asked it of me.”
“No, I am not thinking of this man. But in the future, there may come a time . . . In order to grant protection, you must have the power to enforce it. Give Maelgon’s sentries time to get used to obeying your commands. Then one day they will do it without thought.”
“I shall go into the dungeons every day!”
When Maelgon returned, he had the scouts brought before him, and learned, as we had already done, that they had stopped the youth upon the road into Gwynedd. That he was pagan was clear enough; he wore the symbol of the Mother on a thong about his neck. They did not even have to put him to the test of the Lord’s Prayer. He had confessed quite openly he was not Christian, and they had not waited to hear more, but had taken him prisoner.
Arthur was furious. He openly demanded to know why his laws were not obeyed in Gwynedd, and when Maelgon stood up to him and claimed the right to govern his own kingdom as he saw fit, Arthur, with his hand on Excalibur’s hilt, and every eye in the room upon his hand, asked if that meant he could do insult to anyone he pleased without redress. There was silence. Were those laws? Arthur demanded. Was that justice? Had not the High King sworn to protect the rights of his people, down the the lowliest peasant? Did not Maelgon agree that this man had been unjustly treated? They did not even know yet what his crime was.
Grudgingly Maelgon backed down, and everyone exhaled. The prisoner, now awake, was brought before them. He fell on both knees in front of Arthur and kissed his boots. His name, he said, was Nuathe. His mother served the Lady’s shrine at Avalon. He bore a message for Arthur from Niniane, the Lady of the Lake.
“Give me the message,” Arthur said.
“Do not go to Rheged, my lord!” Arthur looked startled and waited for the rest, but nothing more came.
“That is the message, Nuathe? Nothing else?”
“That is the message, my lord. The lady Niniane gave it me herself. She bade me hurry. I was chosen as the messenger because I ride fast.”
Arthur frowned, and Maelgon, seeing his chance, began to grumble. “What sort of a message is that? Are you telling us the truth, boy?”
“It is the sort of message Niniane might send,” the King cut in. “And in any event,” he added lightly, “he was speaking to me.”
Arthur thanked the youth for bringing him the message, and for enduring such hardships along the way—this with a pointed look—and begged him to rest well before his return journey. Maelgon took the hint, and housed the boy with honor until he left, escorted by Maelgon’s troops, two days later. After all, it was known throughout Britain that to harm a King’s messenger was to insult the King and was asking for bloodshed. Before he left, Nuathe publicly thanked Anet for her treatment of him while he lay in the dungeons and praised her for her Christian charity. All of Arthur’s train did Anet honor, and Maelgon could do no less than join them.
Three days later we had a third messenger. This one, although a pagan, came dressed as a soldier and carried a messenger’s pouch; Maelgon’s scouts let him pass. He arrived at sunset, as we all gathered before going into dinner. He bowed politely to Maelgon, to me, Alyse, and Anet, then went on one knee before Arthur. He came, he said, from Rheged.
Arthur took the scroll from his hand, examined the seal, broke it, and beckoning the torchbearer nearer, slowly read the message. His face grew grave, and he read a second time. Then he tucked the scroll in his tunic and faced the messenger. “Your name?”
“Cathbad, my lord.”
“Whom do you serve?”
“Sir Uwain, my lord. King Urien’s son.”
“Are you a Christian, Cathbad?”
The man’s eyes flashed, and he hesitated just a moment. “No, my lord. I am not. I serve the Mother.”
“Do you know what this message says?”
“No, my lord. It was sealed before it was given to me.”
“Tell me what you know of events in Rheged.”
I watched Arthur anxiously, wondering why he was treading so carefully, wondering what the scroll said. Lancelot watched him, too, frowning. Maelgon looked at Cathbad in disgust.
“King Urien has been summoned to the defense of Strathclyde. King Hapgar sent a message begging his help a week hence. The Picts have broken their borders and attacked in great numbers.” Anet sought my hand. “King Urien thought that many lives might be saved if you could but show your face in Strathclyde, my lord. Since you are by chance halfway there already, and the Picts know it not.” He paused. “They would not stand against you.”
Arthur’s frown deepened. “Is Urien going?”
“Indeed, my lord. We are bound by treaty to do so. Preparations were well under way when I left.”
“Does Uwain go with him? Who stays as regent?”
“Coel stays, my lord. The eldest son. All the rest go with him. This is a major attack.”
Arthur drew a deep breath and bade the man rise. “Thank you, Cathbad, for bringing the message. Get you a night’s sleep. In the morning we will take up our arms and accompany you back to Rheged.”
This set the castle buzzing. Maelgon was of course delighted to be rid of Arthur and was consequently ebullient and condescending throughout dinner. Arthur himself was silent, and though the conversation among the men centered on the savage Picts and the glory of war, he would not speak about it.
I excused myself early from the women and went up to the tower to think. It was a fine, warm night and the stars were out. In the northwest the mist still lay upon the sea. Salowen’s mist, they were calling it already. We had been in Gwynedd a fortnight and nothing had been done about the Druids. In five days the new moon would rise, and Arthur would be in Rheged. Without him behind me, would I have the courage to defy Maelgon should the need arise? Why was Fion not here? I felt now as Arthur felt. I could not get my bearings.
Arthur came to me before midnight. I heard his voice bidding the sentries keep watch upon the stairs and leave the parapet to us. When I turned to greet him, he took me in his arms and kissed me hungrily, unbraiding my hair and letting his lips slide down my throat.
“Arthur! What is the matter?”
He laughed hoarsely and pulled me closer, kissing my lips. “I do not want to go, Gwen. This is the false messenger. I am sure of it.”
“Then do not go, my lord! Niniane has warned you twice about it!”
Abruptly he loosed me and began to pace back and forth alon
g the parapet. “I must go. Urien is a major king and ally. If he calls me, I cannot delay.”
“But if the messenger is false, then he does not call you.”
“Yes, but I cannot really know that until I get there, Gwen. Suppose Nuathe was the false messenger? Have you ever seen him before, among any of Niniane’s attendants?”
“No, my lord. But it is his mother who attends her. Not Nuathe.”
“Still. It is just possible his message was a lie.”
“Sent by whom?” He shrugged. I thought carefully back. “He came in on a red roan, lop-eared. I’ve never seen that horse before.”
“Probably borrowed from the garrison at Caerleon, or hired from some inn. Surely he didn’t ride it all the way from Ynys Witrin. Not if he was in a hurry.”
“Then perhaps it was Mordred’s message that was the lie.”
His head came up, and he stopped his pacing. “I’ve thought of that. Mordred cannot identify the man who gave it to him. He was robed and his face hooded. If it was indeed Salowen who sent it, it could easily be a lie. Truth and untruth are much the same to the Sacred Order. But in that case, I must still go to Rheged. And the moon is waning fast.”
“But you suspect Cathbad. I saw it in your face.”
He smiled bleakly. “Let us hope no one else is so observant. Yes, I suspect him. For one thing, he told me exactly what was in the scroll. No more, no less. As if it were rehearsed. He admitted he could read. Does he imagine all couriers are so educated? And the scroll itself. It is Urien’s seal, right enough, but the Latin is not quite right. It has an odd flavor, like those old scrolls found at York years ago, which Valerius swears are verbatim translations from the Celtic tongue. And I know Urien’s scribe. His name is Junius. He was trained by his father, who was a Roman.” He turned away and began to pace once more. “Cathbad was dressed like a soldier, but he did not carry himself like one. Did you see his eyes when I asked him if he served Christ? It was as if I had offered him poison. If he is not a Druid himself, I am a Saxon.” He paused. “And the timing is so perfect. Something is about to happen here in Gwynedd. But the King’s presence is a problem. How to remove the King? Send him a plea for help he cannot refuse. It is just too obvious.”