Bernard Cornwell - The Winter King

“Because you weren't raised by Galahad's mother, Lady,” I said, 'who doubtless fed him in the same way. To this day he can't eat unless someone sounds a hunting horn.“ She laughed, then caught sight of the brooch I wore. She caught her breath, coloured, and for an instant I thought I had made a huge mistake. Then she smiled. ”I should remember you, Lord Derfel?"

“No, Lady. I was very young.”

“And you kept it?” she asked, apparently astonished that anyone should treasure one of her gifts.

“I kept it, Lady, even when I lost everything else.”

The Princess Helledd interrupted us by asking what business had brought us to Caer Sws. I am sure she already knew, but it was politic for a princess to pretend that she was outside men's council. I answered by saying we had been sent to determine whether war was inevitable. “And is it?” the Princess asked with understandable worry, for on the morrow her husband would go south towards the enemy.

“Sadly, Lady,” I answered, 'it seems so."

“It's all Arthur's fault,” Princess Helledd said firmly and her aunts nodded vigorously.

“I think Arthur would agree with you, Lady,” I said, 'and he regrets it."

“Then why does he fight us?” Helledd wanted to know.

“Because he is sworn to keep Mordred on the throne, Lady.”

“My father-in-law would never dispossess Uther's heir,” Helledd said fiercely.

“Lord Derfel almost lost his head through having this conversation this morning,” Ceinwyn said mischievously.

“Lord Derfel,” Galahad intervened, looking up from the latest fox-chase, 'kept his head because he is beloved by his Gods."

“Not by yours, Lord Prince?” Helledd asked sharply.

“My God loves everyone, Lady.”

“He is indiscriminate, you mean?” She laughed.

We ate goose, chicken, hare and venison, and were served a villainous wine that must have been stored too long since it was brought to Britain. After the meal we moved to cushioned couches and a harpist played for us. The couches were furniture for a woman's hall and both Galahad and I were uncomfortable on their low, soft beds, but I was happy enough for I had made sure I took the couch next to Ceinwyn. For a time I sat straight up, but then leaned on one elbow so I could talk softly to her. I complimented her on her betrothal to Gundleus.

She gave me an amused glance. “That sounds like a courtier speaking,” she said.

“I am forced to be a courtier at times, Lady. Would you prefer me to be the warrior?” She leaned back on an elbow so we could talk without disturbing the music, and her proximity made it seem as though my senses floated in smoke. “My Lord Gundleus,” she said softly, 'demanded my hand as the price of his army in this coming war."

“Then his army, Lady,” I said, 'is the most valuable in Britain.“ She did not smile at the compliment, but kept her eyes steadily on mine. ”Is it true,“ she asked very quietly, 'that he killed Norwenna?”

The bluntness of the question unsettled me. “What does he say, Lady?” I asked instead of answering directly.

“He says' and her voice was even lower so that I could scarcely hear her words 'that his men were attacked and that in the confusion, she died. It was an accident, he says.” I glanced at the young girl playing the harp. The aunts were glaring at the two of us, but Helledd seemed unworried by our talking. Galahad was listening to the music, one arm around the sleeping Perddel. “I was on the Tor that day, Lady,” I said, turning back to Ceinwyn.

“And?”

I decided her bluntness deserved a blunt answer. “She knelt to him in welcome, Lady,” I said, 'and he ran his sword down her throat. I saw it done."

Her face hardened for a second. The glimmering rushlight burnished her pale skin and made soft shadows on her cheeks and under her lower lip. She was wearing a rich dress of pale blue linen that was trimmed with the black-flecked silver-white fur of a winter-stoat. A silver torque encircled her neck, silver rings were in her ears and I thought how well silver suited her bright hair. She gave a small sigh. “I feared to hear that truth,” she said, 'but being a princess means I must marry where it is most useful for me to do so and not where I might want to.“ She turned her head to the musician for a time, then leaned close to me again. ”My father,“ she said nervously, 'says this is a war about my honour. Is it?”

“For him, Lady, yes, though I can tell you Arthur regrets the hurt he did you.” She grimaced slightly. The subject was clearly painful, but she could not let it go, for Arthur's rejection had changed Ceinwyn's life much more subtly and sadly than it had ever changed his. Arthur had gone on to happiness and marriage while she had been left to suffer the long regrets and find the painful answers which, evidently, had not been found. “Do you understand him?” she asked after a while.

“I did not understand him back then, Lady,” I said. “I thought he was a fool. So did we all.”

“And now?” she asked, her blue eyes on mine.

I thought for a few seconds. “I think, Lady, that for once in his life Arthur was struck by a madness that he could not control.”

“Love?”

I looked at her and told myself that I was not in love with her and that her brooch was a talisman snatched randomly from chance. I told myself that she was a Princess and I the son of a slave. “Yes, Lady,” I said.

“Do you understand that madness?” she asked me.

I was aware of nothing in the room except Ceinwyn. The Princess Helledd, the sleeping Prince, Galahad, the aunts, the harpist, none of them existed for me, any more than did the woven wall hangings or the bronze rushlight holders. I was aware only of Ceinwyn's large sad eyes and of my own beating heart.

“I do understand that you can look into someone's eyes,” I heard myself saying, 'and suddenly know that life will be impossible without them. Know that their voice can make your heart miss a beat and that their company is all your happiness can ever desire and that their absence will leave your soul alone, bereft and lost."

She said nothing for a while, but just looked at me with a slightly puzzled expression. “Has that ever happened to you, Lord Derfel?” she asked at last.

I hesitated. I knew the words my soul wanted to say and I knew the words my station should make me say, but then I told myself that a warrior did not thrive on timidity and I let my soul have government of my tongue. “It has never happened until this moment, Lady,” I said. It took more bravery to make that declaration than I had ever needed to break a shield-wall.

She immediately looked away and sat up, and I cursed myself for offending her with my stupid clumsiness. I stayed back on the couch, my face red and my soul hurting with embarrassment as Ceinwyn applauded the harpist by throwing some silver coins on to the rug beside the instrument. She asked for the Song of Rhiannon to be played.

“I thought you were not listening, Ceinwyn,” one of the aunts said cattily.

“I am, Tonwyn, I am, and I am taking a great pleasure in all I hear,” Ceinwyn said and I felt suddenly like a man feels when the enemy's shield-wall collapses. Except I dared not trust her words. I wanted to; I dared not. Love's madness, swinging from ecstasy to despair in one wild second. The music began again, its background the raucous cheers coming from the great hall where the warriors anticipated battle. I leaned all the way back on the cushions, my face still red as I tried to work out whether Ceinwyn's last words had referred to our conversation or to the music, and then Ceinwyn lay back and leaned close to me again. “I do not want a war fought over me,” she said.

“It seems inevitable, Lady.”