Bernard Cornwell - The Winter King

The noise of the waiting petitioners grew louder and Arthur sighed as he thought of the work awaiting him. He pushed away his wine and gave me an apologetic glance. “You deserve to rest, Lord,” he said, deliberately flattering me with my new title, 'but alas, very soon I shall ask you to take your spears north."

“My spears are yours, Lord Prince,” I said dutifully.

He traced a circle on the marble table top with his finger. “We are surrounded by enemies,” he said, 'but the real danger is Powys. Gorfyddyd collects an army like Britain has never seen. That army will come south very soon and King Tewdric, I fear, has no stomach for the fight. I need to put as many spears as I can into Gwent to hold Tewdric's loyalty staunch. Cei can hold Cadwy, Melwas will have to do his best against Cerdic, and the rest of us will go to Gwent."

“What of Aelle?” Guinevere asked meaningfully.

“He is at peace,” Arthur insisted.

“He obeys the highest price,” Guinevere said, 'and Gorfyddyd will be raising the price very soon.“ Arthur shrugged. ”I cannot face both Gorfyddyd and Aelle,“ he said softly. ”It will take three hundred spears to hold Aelle's Saxons, not defeat them, mark you, just hold them. The lack of those three hundred spears will mean defeat in Gwent."

“Which Gorfyddyd knows,” Guinevere pointed out.

“So what, my love, would you have me do?” Arthur asked her. But Guinevere had no better answer than Arthur, and his answer was merely to hope and pray that the fragile peace held with Aelle. The Saxon King had been bought with a cartload of gold and no further price could be paid for there was no gold left in the kingdom. “We just have to hope Gereint can hold him,” Arthur said, 'while we destroy Gorfyddyd.“ He pushed his couch back from the table and smiled at me. ”Rest till after Lughnasa, Lord Derfel,“ he told me, 'then as soon as the harvest's gathered you can march north with me.”

He clapped his hands to summon servants to clear away the remains of the meal and to let in the waiting petitioners. Guinevere beckoned me as the servants hurried about their work. “Can we talk?” she asked.

“Gladly, Lady.”

She took off the heavy necklace, handed it to a slave, then led me up a flight of stone steps that ended at a door opening into an orchard where two of her big deer hounds waited to greet her. Wasps buzzed around windfalls and Guinevere demanded that slaves clear the rotting fruit away so we could walk unmolested. She fed the hounds scraps of chicken left from the midday meal while a dozen slaves scooped the sodden, bruised fruit into the skirts of their robes, then scuttled away, well stung, to leave the two of us alone. Wicker frames of booths that would be decorated with flowers for the great feast of Lughnasa had been erected all around the orchard wall. "It looks pretty' Guinevere spoke of the orchard'

but I wish I was in Lindinis."

“Next year, Lady,” I said.

“It'll be in ruins,” she said tartly. “Hadn't you heard? Gundleus raided Lindinis. He didn't capture Caer Cadarn, but he did pull down my new palace. That was a year ago.” She grimaced. “I hope Ceinwyn makes him utterly miserable, but I doubt she will. She's an insipid little thing.” The leaf-filtered sun lit her red hair and cast strong shadows on her good face. “I sometimes wish I was a man,” she said, surprising me.

“You do?”

“Do you know how hateful it is to wait for news?” she asked passionately. “In two or three weeks you'll all go north and then we must just wait. Wait and wait. Wait to hear if Aelle breaks his word, wait to hear how huge Gorfyddyd's army really is.” She paused. “Why is Gorfyddyd waiting? Why doesn't he attack now?”

“His levies are working on the harvest,” I said. “Everything stops for harvest. His men will want to make sure of their harvest before they come to take ours.”

“Can we stop them?” she asked me abruptly.

“In war, Lady,” I said, 'it is not always a question of what we can do, but what we must do. We must stop them." Or die, I thought grimly.

She walked in silence for a few pacec, thrusting the excited dogs away from her feet. “Do you know what people are saying about Arthur?” she asked after a while. I nodded. “That it would be better if he fled to Broceliande and yielded the kingdom to Gorfyddyd. They say the war is lost.”

She looked at me, overwhelming me with her huge eyes. At that moment, so close to her, alone with her in the warm garden and engulfed by her subtle scent, I understood why Arthur had risked a kingdom's peace for this woman. “But you will fight for Arthur?” she asked me.

“To the end, Lady,” I said. “And for you,” I added awkwardly. She smiled. “Thank you.” We turned a corner, walking towards the small spring that sprang from a rock in the corner of the Roman wall. The trickle of water irrigated the orchard and someone had tucked votive ribbons into niches of the mossy rock. Guinevere lifted the golden hem of her apple-green dress as she stepped over the rivulet. “There's a Mordred party in the kingdom,” she told me, repeating what Bishop Bedwin had spoken of on the night of my return. “They're Christians, mostly, and they're all praying for Arthur's defeat. If he was defeated, of course, they'd have to grovel to Gorfyddyd, but grovelling, I've noticed, conics naturally to Christians. If I were a man, Derfel Cadarn, three heads would fall to my sword. Sansum, Nabur and Mordred.”

I did not doubt her words. “But if Nabur and Sansum are the best men the Mordred party can muster, Lady,” I said, 'then Arthur need not worry about them."

“King Melwas too, I think,” Guinevere said, 'and who knows how many others? Almost every wandering priest in the kingdom spreads the pestilence, asking why men should die for Arthur. I'd strike all their heads off, but traitors don't reveal themselves, Lord Derfel. They wait in the dark and strike when you're not looking. But if Arthur defeats Gorfyddyd they'll all sing his praises and pretend they were his supporters all the while.“ She spat to avert evil, then gave me a sharp glance. ”Tell me about King Lancelot," she said suddenly.

I had an impression that we were at last reaching the real reason for this stroll beneath the apple and pear trees. “I don't really know him,” I said evasively.

“He spoke well of you last night,” she said.

“He did?” I responded sceptic ally I knew Lancelot and his companions were still resident in Arthur's house, indeed I had been dreading meeting him and relieved that he had not been at the midday meal.

“He said you were a great soldier,” Guinevere said.

“It's nice to know,” I answered sourly, 'that he can sometimes tell the truth." I assumed that Lancelot, trimming his sails to a new wind, had tried to gain favour with Arthur by praising a man he knew to be Arthur's friend.

“Maybe,” Guinevere said, 'warriors who suffer a terrible defeat like the fall of Ynys Trebes always end up squabbling?"

“Suffer?” I said harshly. “I saw him leave Benoic, Lady, but I don't remember him suffering. Any more than I remember seeing that bandage on his hand when he left.”

“He's no coward,” she insisted warmly. “He wears warrior rings thick on his left hand, Lord Derfel.”

“Warrior rings!” I said derisively, and plunged my hand into my belt pouch and brought out a fistful of the things. I had so many now that I no longer bothered to make them. I scattered the rings on the orchard's grass, startling the deer hounds that looked to their mistress for reassurance. “Anyone can find warrior rings, Lady.”

Guinevere stared at the fallen rings, then kicked one aside. “I like King Lancelot,” she said defiantly, thus warning me against any more disparaging remarks. “And we have to look after him. Arthur feels we failed Benoic and the least we can do is to treat its survivors with honour. I want you to be kind to Lancelot, for my sake.”