M. K. Hume [King Arthur Trilogy 04] The Last Dragon (36 page)

Arthur opened his eyes and saw Glynn ap Myrddion, brother of Taliesin, for the first time. The healer’s hair was blond and he wore it in a long flaxen braid that fell almost to his waist. In colouring, Glynn was his brother’s opposite, for his eyes were as black as jet. Glossy, impenetrable and intelligent, they were as shocking under his sandy brows as Taliesin’s blue ones were in his pale face.

‘Thank you, Master Glynn,’ Arthur muttered, completely overawed by proximity to the scions of one of Britain’s greatest men. When he was alone, it was easy to forget the prestige of Taliesin’s father when the extraordinary skills of the harper in the fields of music, poetry and science were considered. When Taliesin was joined by Glynn, the healer, and Rhys ap Myrddion, whose skills encompassed ironwork, agriculture, science and mathematics, every man present knew he was in the company of greatness.

Without touching it with his naked fingers, Glynn checked the depth of the wound and placed a heavy pad of gauze over the torn flesh. ‘Take him to my tent and I’ll treat him there,’ he muttered to Lorcan. ‘While this blow was meant to kill, I doubt it will cause any lasting problems, except to leave yet another large scar. How old are you, Arthur?’

‘Almost sixteen, my lord,’ Arthur mumbled, his eyes wide with awe. Most of the boys at the Warriors’ Dyke felt the same awe for Taliesin, but Arthur had known the harper since birth and he was no longer struck dumb in the presence of King Artor’s poet.

‘Well, you’re as scarred as any warrior twice your age. That’s an unenviable boast. As far as I can tell from such a brief examination, at least three people have tried to kill you before you’ve reached manhood. So it’s off to my tent with you! It’ll do you good to walk, but you should keep the wound covered. Evil humours entering the body through such an injury can often cause death. No one, not even my father, could save you if your blood became poisoned.’

In company with the healer and his two tutors, Arthur limped out of the tent to be treated. He shuffled away on his own two feet, a clear indication that the healer expected his patient to live. As they left the tent, Taliesin went to stand before Mareddyd and allowed the room to quieten. Behind his back, the aristocratic youths and their entourages were left gape mouthed and confused at the way their entertainment had terminated in the attempted murder of one of their own without the saving grace of a believable excuse. Fifty men had watched the prince attack his younger opponent with a weapon when Arthur was clearly unarmed, and fifty pairs of eyes were now avoiding his hot gaze as he dragged himself to his feet. And fifty mouths would later speak freely of Mareddyd’s behaviour during the contest, a lapse of honour that would stay with him for the remainder of his life. All honourable men detest cheating in combat, but to draw a weapon on an unarmed opponent was despicable cowardice.

‘What are we to do with you, Mareddyd pen Tewdwr, proud heir of a great family and descendant of kings? You have broken the rules of combat. The cause of this unseemly brawl was trivial even for a fist fight, young man. You chose to roll on the sod like a peasant because a silly youth criticised your sword. From all reports, only one other person even heard this minor insult, so you were not held up to public ridicule. Arthur apologised immediately, and you heard him repeat that admission of fault this evening before everyone present. Most of these young men had no idea what your argument was about, but Arthur knew he had spoken with a boy’s rancour and jealousy when he uttered the insult. Would you have given up your sword in the same situation, Mareddyd? Of course not! Then, as clearly as if you had shouted your intention aloud, you tried to steal his knife for yourself because it was of value to him and his family. Finally, during a battle of honour, you drew a hidden knife to avoid being defeated in equal and fair combat. The whole camp saw what you did. Unfortunately, I am a mere harper and not one of your peers, so I am not permitted to punish you. Nor would I suggest that you be judged for your actions by your fellow warriors. This whole distasteful incident is best ended here. But it won’t be swept aside, because every person present will remember today’s treachery.’

Taliesin rounded on the audience, his ascetic, cold-blue eyes riveted upon both aristocrats and seasoned warriors. ‘I know that you’ll talk like gossiping old granddams behind your hands, and enjoy the telling of this evening of shame. But if you speak out of turn, and I discover you have lied or invented anything, then Taliesin will become an enemy of your house. Do you understand me?’

Shamefaced, the men present nodded or looked down in agreement. No one spoke to defend Mareddyd, and the young man felt the revulsion of the warriors enclose him like chains of iron as they stepped away from him, leaving him in a cone of silence. Furious, humiliated and afraid, he burst into intemperate speech.

‘The Cornovii pig has always sought to wound or insult me. From our first meeting last season, I knew he would harm me if he could. I armed myself because I expected him to try to kill me with his bare hands. I thought he intended to break my back. I had no intention of harming him in return. I just wanted to stop him from killing me.’

No one stepped forward immediately to defend Arthur’s good name. Although every boy who had been present the previous season knew that Arthur had never used insults against anyone, least of all Mareddyd, and many knew too that Arthur had ignored Mareddyd’s own frequent insults to avoid the charge of bullying someone who was smaller than himself, they remained silent for fear of reprisals. Every man and youth there waited for one of their companions to do the noble thing.

Finally, Eamonn mustered the courage to answer Mareddyd’s slurs against Arthur’s character. ‘The whole argument was a trivial matter, as Master Taliesin explained, and I think we were all actually enjoying the prospect of a fair fight,’ he began. ‘I, for one, longed to see Mareddyd thrown down on his skinny arse, because he spent most of last season making my life miserable. Didn’t many of you feel the same way?’

A murmur of agreement soughed through the tent – softly at first, but growing louder as the audience grew bolder.

‘But we allowed Arthur to fight our battles for us because he was bigger than we were. Our cowardice seemed harmless, for we thought that Arthur was strong enough to bear the brunt of Mareddyd’s resentment. We should have fought our own battles. By the gods, I’ve said a thousand more insulting things about Mareddyd and his lack of character than Arthur’s single fall from grace. So why did I let him face an older man who was a warrior in his own right? Why did I even permit the contest to take place? Yes, between us all we could have stopped the fight if we had made our feelings known. But we were afraid, and would not accept that united we are strong. Worse still, we were excited by the prospect of seeing Arthur grind Mareddyd’s face in the dirt. If we accept Mareddyd’s feeble excuses for his treachery, then we are just as guilty as he is because we know his words to be lies.’

Even Taliesin was surprised by the edge of command in Eamonn’s voice. He might have been only fourteen years old and still far from his full growth, but his words were so compelling that every man present responded, even Mareddyd, although the warrior flinched at the contempt in Eamonn’s tone.

‘You called me every foul name imaginable last season, and I never demanded recompense. By your rules, Mareddyd, I should have called you to account a hundred times for your slurs about me. But, out of cowardice, I didn’t utter a word of complaint against you. Once only, out of all the times you deserved censure, did Arthur say anything that could have insulted you – only once – and that was today when he scoffed at your sword. For someone who claims he was frightened of the situation he found himself in, you had several opportunities to ensure your personal safety. Arthur apologised often enough and you could have retreated with your honour intact on several occasions. A frightened man wouldn’t have faced Arthur in physical combat. But then, in the way of the coward, you decided to be certain of winning by secreting a blade in your boot.’

‘You Cornish squib! You can’t match me in birth or in learning, so you seek to blacken my name by accusing me of cowardice. If I attack you now, or call you out, you’ll charge me with being a bully. You’re using your lack of height to demean me.’

‘Yet you’ve used your lack of height to demean yourself. You felt you could use a knife on Arthur because he was bigger than you.’

Mareddyd’s face was flushed with fury and guilt. But years of swaggering braggadocio was a habit that was impossible to break, now that he was a man. ‘You have no right to criticise me, you bag of hot air. You’re nothing, Eamonn! Even the women in my family stand tall. My great-aunt was a queen!’

‘My father’s great-uncle was married to the legendary Ygerne, and the High King himself was my cousin, so you should beware how you toss family connections around,’ Eamonn snarled back at him. ‘There are many lads here whom you have scorned who can claim a finer bloodline than you. Assumptions of grandeur matter little here, Mareddyd, for the history of our people has no bearing on the character we display to those who know us. I’ll speak to you no more, whether you choose to stay at the Warriors’ Dyke or not. Belatedly, I stand for Arthur.’

Then Eamonn turned his back on Mareddyd and waited beside the tent flap, leaving the accused to continue the diatribe of justification that had served him so successfully in the past. One by one, the young tribal aristocrats rose and turned their backs on him, before leaving the tent to join their entourages. Eventually, Mareddyd fell silent in a room where only three men still faced him – the captain of the guard, the enigmatic, judgemental Taliesin and the youthful Eamonn beside the tent flap.

‘Since this is the way you allow these curs to taunt me, I will have none of any of you, Taliesin. Everyone present tonight should dread the time when I become the ruler of the Dobunni tribe, especially if their people should have any need for strong allies. I’ll see all the tribes of the Britons turned to ashes for the insults that have been aimed at me this night. I’d prefer that the Saxons ruled our holy places than to offer aid to any of you. And you can tell that piece of shite, Arthur, that he’d best watch his back from now on. He’s my sworn enemy until death takes one of us.’ Then Mareddyd laughed, and the sound was an ugly, grating expression of contempt. ‘You too, Eamonn! You too! Your head will decorate my hall before my life is done. You shamed me and I will not forget you.’

‘You can only be shamed by what other men believe if guilt already lives in your heart,’ Taliesin whispered, knowing that he was wasting his time. ‘Go now, and make any excuses you choose to explain your return to your father. No one here will argue with any version of events that is not a direct lie. But you should be gone quickly, before the guards of some of these young men decide that you’re a danger to their masters. They may decide to protect their charges from your threats in a more permanent fashion. Arthur is well liked, and you are not.’

Mareddyd spat on the sod, leaving the vile globule of phlegm lying at Taliesin’s feet. Then the young man turned on his heel and approached the captain of the guard, his hand outstretched to receive his confiscated blade. The captain placed the knife in his hand. Then he stepped away from Mareddyd, turning his back on the heir to the Dobunni throne with the studied insolence of a trained warrior, and left the tent.

‘You’ll regret this day,’ Mareddyd promised in a soft voice, his face bone-white and his clenched fists trembling with an anger that was barely contained. The childish threat was frightening because the Dobunni’s voice was utterly flat, belying the physical signs of powerful emotion revealed by his body. The air seemed cleaner once he had left the tent.

Ostentatiously, Taliesin placed his boot on the globule of phlegm lying on the grass and ground it into the sod. ‘This wasn’t a good day’s work, Eamonn. With luck, Mareddyd will forget this silly incident when he grows to adulthood, but perhaps he won’t. However, the dyke still needs to be built and Arthur will be upset if his injury slows down its construction. We return to work tomorrow, and we will still boast with pride that we worked together on the Warriors’ Dyke.’

Slowly, man and boy left the tent, leaving behind broken trestle tables and overturned stools, and the servants hurried in to clean the eating area before the light failed and night settled around them. Outside, a wind began to rise and set the forest to moaning as the breeze grew to a small gale, bending the smaller trees and forcing the predators of the night to scurry to safe cover as heavy rain began to fall.

‘May the heavens protect us,’ one of the older servants, a peasant farmer hired by Taliesin for the season, crossed himself in the Christian fashion, and stroked a runic amulet round his neck for added luck.

‘What’s your problem, Cobb? It’s just an early storm, not a reason for worry,’ a fellow villager answered as he staggered under a pile of used wooden platters, notable for the scraps of food left upon them by the aristocracy. The dogs would dine well this night.

‘Can’t you smell it?’ Cobb asked bluntly. ‘The storm reek, but worse, that only comes when the Wild Hunt is abroad and Cernunnos goes hunting for human souls.’ Everyone experienced a fleeting mental picture of the stag-horned god, huge and menacing, as he led the harrowers from hell. Even the Christians felt a frisson of horror at the thought.

‘You’re supposed to be a Christian, Cobb. The baby Jesus has driven the Old Ones out of this land, so how can the Hunt even exist?’

‘You’ll see, Brud,’ Cobb snapped, and his fingers strayed to the protective amulet again. ‘Men carry the Wild Hunt in them, so Cernunnos has been called up by men. I’ll take my chances with baby Jesus and my runes. Perhaps both will protect me.’

‘You’re right about one thing: there’s a storm coming,’ Brud answered drily. ‘So move your arses, mates, or we’ll still be cleaning in the dark while the nobs are sound asleep under their warm dry furs.’

Aye, but we’ll not all sleep this night, Cobb thought bleakly. Something frightening is coming. The dark years are beginning now, just as the Witch Woman warned the Brigante people. The Dragon King has been dead too long and the peaceful days are over. I had hoped to be safely in my grave before the bad times came again, but such is not to be my lot. Ah, Cobb, it’s the very devil to live in the shadows of great men, and the poor peasant always suffers, pays and dies. Hours later, the farmer’s thoughts were still bleak and dark as he made his way to his damp bed in the crowded servants’ tent.