In the end, the Emrys and I, and Gwenhwyvar, along with a small bodyguard of warriors, stayed behind to hold the realm in Arthur's absence. Gwenhwyvar was angry with Arthur for going – mostly because she thought that she should fight by his side, rather than languish alone in Britain. She raged and stormed for a fair time about this but, when the day of leaving dawned, she bore her duty with good grace.
Once in motion, Arthur's preparations gathered speed. By early summer, all was in readiness and the warriors of Britain assembled – like the legionaries three hundred years before – on the banks of the River Uisc to board ships bound for Rome.
We stayed in Caer Legionis for a few days after the ships sailed, then boarded our own ships and sailed up the western coast to the harbour at Caer Lial. I was not sorry to stay behind with the Emrys and the queen. Although I would have liked to have gone to Rome, just to see it, I was the least of Arthur's warriors and could serve him better by remaining behind and looking to his interests in Britain.
The journey to Caer Lial proved pleasant. We stopped at Avallon on the way and stayed a few days with Avallach and Charis, before going on to the city. Another day's sailing brought us safely to the harbour and at last we were returned to the north.
I was surprised to discover how much I had missed it. After the close-crowded city of the south, Caer Lial seemed spacious, the air fresher, the days brighter. I was glad to be at home once more and spent the next few days happily attending to affairs left untended since the winter before. Also, I made plans to ride to Caer Alclyd to visit my mother, whom I had not seen since Emperor Arthur's coronation – and then only for a moment.
The day I had planned to leave, I went to the stables for a mount. While the horse was being saddled, I hurried back to the palace to gather the gifts I was bringing to my family. Then I sought out the Emrys to bid him farewell, and to see if he wished to send any message with me.
It was as I hastened down the long corridor from my chamber to the hall that I heard a cry of alarm. It came from within the palace.
I raced to the hall, scattering all my bundles as I burst into the room and found myself face to face with Medraut.
EIGHT
Four warriors lay dead in pooled blood on the floor. The room was filled with Picti waving swords and clubs and spears. I was the only Briton alive to defend the queen and I was unarmed. Medraut's sword bit into my throat.
'What treachery is this?' I demanded.
'We have come to pay homage to the Emperor,' replied Medraut with a sneer. 'Imagine our disappointment when we discovered that he is not here to receive us.'
Two Picts thrust spears at me from either side. I know they would have killed me in that selfsame instant if Medraut had not prevented them. 'Cadw! Ymat!' he shouted in their coarse tongue. Then, to another swarthy Pict who looked to be a king, he said, 'This one is more valuable to us alive. Have him bound and put with the others.'
My wrists and knees were bound with thick leather thongs and I was dragged through the palace and hauled into the yard. There were signs of the briefest and most futile of struggles: here and there a cluster of dead bodies, some armed, most without weapons; men cut down where they stood.
No organized resistance had been possible. We were overcome before we could raise spear or draw sword. And those of us still alive were becoming Medraut's hostages. The humiliation was worse than death.
Shock and outrage coiled within me, twin serpents of revulsion. The evil of it! Vile disgrace! Vicious and wicked, Medraut had perpetrated the unthinkable.
More than thirty of the queen's warriors had been captured – attesting to the utter surprise with which the city had been attacked. No man, from the highest warrior to the lowest stablehand, would ever have allowed himself to be taken alive if he had weapon to hand, or, failing that, a chance to swing his fists.
The waiting warriors stood with their heads bowed in disgrace, hands bound, surrounded by Picti guards. Smoke rolled across the yard and coiled from numerous sites within the city. Shrieks and screams echoed in the distance. I was brought to stand with the other Britons and after only a few moments saw the Emrys and the Queen roughly dragged from, the palace. The sight of Myrddin and Gwenhwyvar, bound and hooded, the hands of the enemy upon them, made the gorge rise in my throat. I retched and choked back bile. The tears welled up in my eyes.
Medraut, his expression wild and fantastic, strutted forth across the yard, a big Pict battlechief on either side of him. He was no true warrior himself, so moved only in the company of warriors. In truth, he was nothing more than a cunning coward.
Upon reaching the place where the captives waited he uttered a sharp command in the barbarian tongue. All at once, the Picti raised blade and spear and began stabbing the hostages. Brave men fell all around me. I saw more than one sword plunged into the belly of a defenceless man, and that man fall to his death without a sound, courageous to the end. One battle-scarred veteran even seized the sword as it swung towards him and with a defiant cry thrust it through his own heart rather than allow the enemy to kill him so shamefully.
I was struck to the ground and pinned there with the point of a spear. When the slaughter was finished, only eleven remained. Medraut saved the most important of his captives for the hostage pits: the queen, the Emrys, myself, and eight others whose fives he hoped to bargain with.
Let him do his worst. That day I watched good men die and pledged my life to seeing Medraut's headless corpse torn to pieces by the High King's hounds.
I was thrown into a loathsome pit beneath the roots of the fortress. There with some few of the other hostages I stayed. Whether day or night, I knew it not. Where the queen was held, or what had become of the Emrys, I could not say.
Occasionally, we were hauled from the pit and made to parade in chains before our Picti captors who wished to boast of us before their chieftains. At one of these times I discovered that we were enjoying the hospitality of Keldrych, a powerful Pict king, who had succoured Medraut when the tyrant fled Arthur's fosterage.
Keldrych summoned the fierce tribes of the north to attend him in Caer Lial, there to see for themselves how he and Medraut had seized the Pendragon's city. Word of rebellion spread like plague among the Picti, who had never loved Arthur and needed little enough encouragement to break faith with him.
A blind man could have seen what was happening! Having stolen the queen, the traitor bargained with the lords and battlechiefs of other Picti tribes for support. And this he won.
Curiously, the Picti, among other primitive peoples, consider the kingship of a lord to rest in his queen. The king's wife is the living symbol of his reign. It is a belief ancient beyond reckoning, and more enduring than stone.
For this reason, the Picti were much impressed with Medraut's abduction of Gwenhwyvar: she was Arthur's kingship. As Medraut possessed her, so he possessed the throne of Britain. To the Picti this was self-evident. In seizing the queen, Medraut had made himself king, and in their eyes proud Gwenhwyvar became Medraut's wife. This treason moved the Picti as nothing else could. In treachery was Medraut the master.
Arthur, of course, was expected to return and fight for his throne. Medraut meant to be ready. With extravagant promises and subtle deceptions he wooed the rebel kings. As the summer waxed full, the forces of the Picti gathered for war. With each day that passed the enemy grew stronger, as more and more warbands arrived in Caer Lial, summoned by Keldrych and Medraut, and emboldened by the prospect of Arthur's defeat.