Arthur

He regarded me for a long moment, his face in deep shadow. I saw his eyes glinting sharp in the fireglow, as if weighing out the value of his words. At last he said, 'Dare I trust you, Aneirin?'

'Please, Emrys, if I have ever shown myself false in any way, strike me down at once.'

'Well said,' the Emrys replied, turning his eyes back to the glowing embers. 'You have earned the trust I will place in you – though perhaps you will soon wish otherwise.'

'If the burden be lightened for sharing, I will bear it, Lord.'

The Emrys drew a deep breath. 'I like not the look of Arthur's wound. It should be healing, but instead it is getting worse. I fear poison.'

The Picti sometimes smeared poison on their blades before going into battle. That would appeal to Medraut, of course. 'What is to be done, Emrys?'

Just then the flap of the Pendragon's tent opened and Gwenhwyvar stepped forth. She came quickly to stand beside the Emrys. Standing there, wrapped in her bold cloak, eyes bright, dark hair glinting, features soft in the deep fireglow, I thought that I would never see another woman so proud, so beautiful. Or so worried.

'He is fevered,' she said. 'He sleeps, but it is not a healing sleep. Myrddin, I am afraid. You must do something.'

The Emrys frowned. 'I will open the wound and bind it with herbs to draw out the poison.'» 'And then?' 'And then we shah* see.'

Gwenhwyvar returned to the tent, and the Emrys and I wrapped our cloaks around us and walked down to the stream in the valley. By the moon's bright light we gathered certain leaves and stems of plants he knew to have healing properties. Then we made our way along the stream to the shore, where the receding tide had left fresh sea-plants on the strand. Some of these we harvested as well, and then returned to the camp where the Emrys built up the fire once more.

I fetched clean water in a good iron pot and put it on the fire. When the water boiled, the Emrys carefully added some of the leaves we had obtained and in this way brewed a "healing draught. We tended the cauldron through the night and, at dawn's first light, poured the healing liquid into a bowl and carried it to the Pendragon's tent.

I confess I was shaken by the sight that met my eyes. So changed was the High King that I would not have recognized him: skin grey and damp, hair matted on his head, lips cracked and dry, the cords of his neck straining as he shivered and moaned… Even by the uncertain light of the smouldering rushlamps, I would have sworn he was not the man I knew.

Gwenhwyvar sat beside her husband, clasping his hand in hers. She stirred as we entered and I saw that her eyes were red from weeping. But I saw no tears. 'Arthur,' the Emrys said softly, kneeling beside the bedplace. 'Hear me, Arthur, I have brought you a draught.'

At these words the Pendragon opened his eyes. Those eyesf Hard and bright with fever, piercing, pain-filled. I could not endure the sight and had to look away.

The Emrys beat over Arthur and raised him up. He held the bowl to the cracked lips and gave the Pendragon to drink. Glory of glories, the potent elixir's effect was remarkable and immediate. Colour returned to the High King's face, the shivering stopped, and he relaxed as strength returned.

'Myrddin,' he said, seeing him for the first time. 'I had a dream.'

7 do nor wonder,' Myrddin replied. 'You are sick, Arthur. Your wound is poisoned; it must be opened at once and the poison drained.'

'It was a strange and marvellous dream.' Tell it to me, Arthur, while I tend your wound.' So saying, the Emrys brought out his knife, which had been honed with sandstone and sea-water. He loosened the Pendragon's mantle and drew it away from the wound.

Bitter bile rose in my mouth. The gash was swollen and purple, the edges black and suppurating. It seemed a hideous serpent winding around the High King's neck, venomous and deadly. 'Take the bowl, Aneirin,' the Emrys said sternly.

But, as I reached out my hand to take the empty bowl, Gwenhwyvar interceded gently, 'Allow me. I will hold the bowl.'

'Very well then,' replied the Emrys. 'Aneirin, bring good new rushes for the lamp. I must see what I am doing.'

I ran to the supply wain and fetched new rushes for the lamp. Bedwyr appeared at the tent, just as I returned. 'How is he?' His voice was low and secretive.

'Not well,' I replied. 'The Emrys is about to open the wound to draw off the poison.'

Bedwyr nodded and followed me into the tent. Once the new lamp was lit and burning brightly, the Emrys set to work. With small, quick strokes of the knife Myrddin laid open the festering wound. Blood and pus spurted from the swollen flesh, and trickled into the bowl.

Arthur neither winced nor cried out, enduring the agony in silence. Gwenhwyvar bit her lip and her brow beaded sweat, but she held the bow) firmly between steady hands. While Myrddin gently kneaded the long, jagged incision, Bedwyr knelt opposite the Emrys holding Arthur's right shoulder up to allow the vile ooze drain more freely. I held the rushlamp at the Pendragon's head, so that the Emry's would have the light he required. The stench of the seeping matter rising up from the bowl sickened me.

'There,' said the Emrys at last. 'You can take the bowl away.' Gwenhwyvar removed the bowl and set it aside. Myrddin took up the remaining leaves we had gathered and began applying them, one by one, along the line of • the cut. 'These will draw out the poison,' he explained. 'I will replace them in a little while. We will leave the wound uncovered until then.' 'It feels better,' Arthur said. 'I am hungry.' Bedwyr's relief spread over his face in a grin. 'You are always hungry, Bear. It is your one unfailing virtue.'

Gwenhwyvar placed a hand lightly on Arthur's forehead and stroked his brow – a gesture of such delicacy and intimacy that it filled me with longing. 'I will bring you food and wine.'

'A tittle bread, but no meat,' replied the Emrys. 'And mead – it will help him sleep.' 'I will bring it,' I said, and hurried away at once. The sun was full on the horizon, tinting the low grey clouds with the imperial purple. A cool breeze blew out of the east, and the camp had begun to stir. On the hillside I across the stream, where the Cymbrogi slept, the camp | fires had been revived and the warriors were roused to their warmth. As I passed the tents of the kings Cador stepped out, saw me, and called me to him. 'I give you good day, Aneirin,' he said. 'Is the Pendragon well?'

His question caught me unawares. I could not guess how much he knew, and knew not how much to say. 'He spent an uneasy night, lord.' I answered. Cador nodded. 'I am bringing him food.'

'Hurry on, then. I will not delay you.' He yawned and returned to his tent. From the provisions in the supply wain, I took two good loaves and filled a small jar from the mead skin. These I tucked in my cloak and hurried back to the Pendragon',s tent.

Gwenhwyvar and the Emrys stood together outside the tent talking in low tones. They stopped at my approach, and the queen received the food and went back to Arthur's side. 'Emrys,' I said, 'Cador asked after the Pendragon – '

'What did you tell him?'

'I did not know what to tell him,' I admitted. 'I said only that the Pendragon spent an uneasy night. I thought it best not to say much.' The Emrys pursed his lips. 'Did I do right?'

'Yes,' he said finally. 'But say no more to anyone who asks – at least until we see how this will go.'

I hovered near the Pendragon's tent through the day. The kings and Cymbrogi sported in the valley during the long, sun-filled day. Once, I wandered half-way down the hillside for a better view. I sat on a rock and watched their lively contests.