Legacy: Arthurian Saga (32 page)

He began to pack away the remains of
the meal while I sat, chin on hand, thinking, my eyes on the bright
distance.

I added, slowly: "It's simple enough
to find out where Vortigern is now, and if Hengist's landed
already, and with how many men. Marric will probably find out
without too much trouble. But there were other soundings the Count
wanted me to take -- things they'll hardly know about in the
nunnery -- so now that Galapas is dead, I'll have to try elsewhere.
We'll wait here till dusk, then go down to St. Peter's. My mother
will be able to tell me who I can still go to in safety." I looked
at him. "Whatever king she favors, she's not likely to give me
away."

"That's true enough. Well, let's hope
they'll let her see you."

"If she knows who's asking for her, I
imagine it will take more than a word from the Abbess to stop her
from seeing me. Don't forget she's still a king's daughter." I lay
back on the warm grass, my hands behind my head. "Even if I'm not
yet a king's son..."

But, king's son or no, there was no
getting into the nunnery.

I had been right in thinking there had
been no damage done here. The high walls loomed unbroken and
unscarred, and the gates were new and solid, of oak hinged and
bolted with iron. They were fast shut. Nor -- mercifully -- did any
welcoming torch burn outside. The narrow street was empty and unlit
in the early dusk. At our urgent summons a small square window in
the gate opened, and an eye was applied to the grille.

"Travelers from Cornwall," I said
softly. "I must have word with the Lady Niniane."

"The Lady who?" It was the flat,
toneless voice of the deaf. Wondering irritably why a deaf portress
should be put at the gate, I raised my voice a little, going closer
to the grille.

"The Lady Niniane. I don't know what
she calls herself now, but she was sister of the late King. Is she
with you still?"

"Aye, but she'll see nobody. Is it a
letter you have? She can read."

"No, I must have speech with her. Go
and take word to her; tell her it's -- one of her
family."

"Her family?" I thought I saw a
flicker of interest in the eyes.

"They're most of them dead and gone.
Do you not get news in Cornwall? Her brother the King died in
battle last year, and the children have gone to Vortigern. Her own
son's been dead these five years."

"I knew that. I'm not her brother's
family. And I'm as loyal as she is to the High King. Go and tell
her that. And look -- take this for your...devotions."

A pouch passed through the grille and
was grabbed in a quick monkey-snatch. "I'll take a message for you.
Give me your name. I don't say she'll see you, mind, but I'll take
her your name."

"My name's Emrys." I hesitated. "She
knew me once. Tell her that. And hurry. We'll wait
here."

It was barely ten minutes before I
heard the steps coming back. For a moment I thought it might be my
mother, but it was the same old eyes that peered at me through the
grille, the same clawed hand laying hold of the bars. "She'll see
you. Oh no, not now, young master. You can't come in. Nor she can't
come out yet, not till prayers is over. Then she'll meet you on the
river walk, she says; there's another gate in the wall there. But
not to let anyone see you."

"Very well. We'll be
careful."

I could see the whites of the eyes
turning, as she tried to see me in the shadows. "Knew you, she did,
straight away. Emrys, eh? Well, don't worry that I'll say aught.
These be troubled times, and the least said the better, no matter
what about."

"What time?"

"An hour after moonrise. You'll hear
the bell."

"I'll be there," I said, but the
grille was already shut.

There was a mist rising again from the
river. This would help, I thought. We went quietly down the lane
which skirted the nunnery walls. It led away from the streets, down
towards the towpath.

"What now?" asked Cadal. "It's two
hours yet till moonrise, and by the look of the night we'll be
lucky if we ever see a moon at all. You'll not risk going into the
town?"

"No. But there's no sense in waiting
about in this drizzle. We'll find a place out of the wet where we
can hear the bell. This way."

The stableyard gate was locked. I
wasted no time on it, but led the way to the orchard wall. No
lights showed in the palace. We scrambled over where the wall was
broken, and walked up through the damp grass of the orchard and
into my grandfather's garden. The air was heavy with the smell of
damp earth and growing things, mint and sweetbriar and moss and
young leaves heavy with wet. Last year's ungathered fruit squelched
under our feet. Behind us the gate creaked, emptily.

The colonnades were empty, the doors
shut, the shutters fastened close over the windows. The place was
all darkness and echoes and the scuttle of rats. But there was no
damage that I could see. I suppose that, when Vortigern took the
town, he had meant to keep the house for himself, and had somehow
persuaded or forced his Saxons to bypass it in their looting as --
from fear of the bishops -- he had forced them to bypass St.
Peter's. So much the better for us. We should at least have a dry
and comfortable wait. My time with Tremorinus had been wasted
indeed if I could not have picked every lock in the
place.

I was just saying as much to Cadal
when suddenly, round the corner of the house, treading softly as a
cat on the mossy flagstones, came a young man walking fast. He
stopped dead at the sight of us, and I saw his hand flash down to
his hip. But even while Cadal's weapon hissed free of its sheath in
reply the young man peered, stared, and then exclaimed: "Myrddin,
by the holy oak!"

For a moment I genuinely didn't
recognize him, which was understandable, since he was not much
older than myself, and had changed as much in five years. Then,
unmistakably, I saw who it was; broad shoulders, thrusting jaw,
hair that even in the twilight showed red. Dinias, who had been
prince and king's son when I was a nameless bastard; Dinias, my
'cousin," who would not even recognize that much of a tie with me,
but who had claimed the title of Prince for himself, and been
allowed to get away with it."

He would hardly now be taken for a
prince. Even in that fading light I could see that he was dressed,
not poorly, but in clothes that a merchant might have worn, and he
had only one jewel, an arm-ring of copper. His belt was of plain
leather, his sword-hilt plain also, and his cloak, though of good
stuff, was stained and frayed at the edge. About his whole person
was that indefinable air of seediness which comes from relentless
calculation from day to day or perhaps even from meal to
meal.

Since in spite of the considerable
changes he was still indisputably my cousin Dinias, it was to be
supposed that once he had recognized me, there was little point in
pretending he was wrong. I smiled and held out my hand. "Welcome,
Dinias. Yours is the first known face I've seen today."

"What in the name of the gods are you
doing here? Everyone said you were dead, but I didn't believe
it."

His big head thrust out, peering close
as the quick eyes looked me up and down. "Wherever you were, you've
done all right, seemingly. How long have you been back?"

"We came today."

"Then you've heard the
news?"

"I knew Camlach was dead. I'm sorry
about that...if you were. As you'll know, he was no friend of mine,
but that was hardly political..." I paused, waiting. Let him make
the moves. I saw from the corner of an eye that Cadal was tensed
and watchful, a hand still to his hip. I moved my own hand, palm
downwards in a slight flattening movement, and saw him
relax.

Dinias lifted a shoulder. "Camlach? He
was a fool. I told him which way the wolf would jump." But as he
spoke I saw his eyes slide sideways towards the shadows. It seemed
that men watched their tongues these days in Maridunum. His eyes
came back to me, suspicious, wary. "What's your business here,
anyway? Why did you come back?"

"To see my mother. I've been in
Cornwall, and all we got there was rumors of fighting, and when I
heard Camlach was dead, and Vortimer, I wondered what had happened
at home."

"Well, she's alive, you'll have found
that out? The High King" -- rather loudly -- "respects the Church.
I doubt if you'll get to see her, though."

"You're probably right. I went up to
the nunnery, and they wouldn't let me in. But I'll be here for a
few days. I'll send a message in, and if she wants to see me, I
imagine she'll find a way of doing so. But at least I know she's
safe. It's a real stroke of luck, running into you like this.
You'll be able to give me the rest of the news. I had no idea what
I might find here, so as you see, I came in this morning quietly,
alone with my servant."

"Quietly is right. I thought you were
thieves. You're lucky I didn't cut you down and ask questions
afterwards."

It was the old Dinias, the bullying
note there again, an immediate response to my mild, excusing
tone.

"Well, I wasn't taking any risks till
I knew how the family stood. I went off to St. Peter's -- I waited
till dusk to do that -- then I came to take a look round here. Is
the place empty then?"

"I'm still living here. Where
else?"

The arrogance rang as hollow as the
empty colonnade, and for a moment I felt tempted to ask him for
hospitality and see what he would say. As if the thought had struck
him at the same moment he said quickly: "Cornwall, eh? What's the
news from there? They say Ambrosius' messengers are scuttling
across the Narrow Sea like waterflies."

I laughed. "I wouldn't know. I've been
leading a sheltered life."

"You picked the right place." The
contempt that I remembered so well was back in his voice. "They say
old Gorlois spent the winter snugged down in bed with a girl barely
turned twenty, and left the rest of the kings to play their own
games out in the snow. They say she'd make Helen of Troy look like
a market-woman. What's she like?"

"I never saw her. He's a jealous
husband."

"Jealous of you?" He laughed, and
followed it with a comment that made Cadal, behind me, suck in his
breath. But the jibe had put my cousin back in humor, and off his
guard. I was still the little bastard cousin, and of no account. He
added: "Well, it would suit you. You had a peaceful winter, you
with your goatish old Duke, while the rest of us tramped the
country after the Saxons."

So he had fought with Camlach and
Vortimer. It was what I had wanted to know. I said mildly: "I was
hardly responsible for the Duke's policy. Nor am I now."

"Hah! It's as well for you. You knew
he was in the north with Vortigern?"

"I knew he had left to join him -- at
Caer'n-ar-Von, was it? Are you going up there yourself?" I put the
gentlest of queries into my voice, adding meekly: "I wasn't really
in a position to hear much news that mattered."

A chill current of air eddied, loaded
with damp, between the pillars. From some broken gutter above us
water suddenly spilled over, to splash between us on the
flagstones. I saw him gather his cloak round him. "Why are we
standing here?" He spoke with a brusque heartiness that ran as
false as the arrogance. "Come and exchange news over a flask of
wine, eh?"

I hesitated, but only for a moment. It
seemed obvious that Dinias had his own reasons for keeping out of
the High King's eye; for one thing, if he had managed to live down
his association with Camlach, he would surely be with Vortigern's
army, not skulking here in this threadbare fashion in an empty
palace. For another, now that he knew I was in Maridunum, I
preferred to keep him under my eye than leave him now to go and
talk to whom he would.

So I accepted with every appearance of
flattered pleasure, only insisting that he must join me for supper,
if he could tell me where a good meal was to be found, and a warm
seat out of the wet...

Almost before the words were out he
had me by the arm and was hurrying me across the atrium and out
through the street door.

"Fine, fine. There's a place over on
the west side, beyond the bridge. The food's good, and they get the
kind of clients that mind their own business." He winked. "Not that
you'll be wanting to bother with a girl, eh? Though you don't look
as if they'd made a clerk of you after all...? Well, no more for
now, it doesn't do to look as though you've too much to talk about
these days...You either fall foul of the Welsh or you fall foul of
Vortigern -- and the place is crawling with his spies just now. I
don't know who it is they're looking for, but there's a story going
about -- No, take your trash away." This to a beggar who thrust a
tray of rough-cut stones and leather laces in front of us. The man
moved back without a word. I saw that he was blind in one eye from
a cut; a hideous scar ran right up one cheek, and had flattened the
bridge of the nose. It looked as if it had been a sword
cut.

I dropped a coin on the tray as we
passed, and Dinias shot me a look that was far from friendly.
"Times have changed, eh? You must have struck it rich in Cornwall.
Tell me, what happened that night? Did you mean to set the whole
damned place on fire?"