Arthur

'It is a mistake,' the Emrys said at once, his tone low and serious. 'You cannot accept the tribute.'

Arthur spread his hands helplessly. 'But I have already done so.'

'Undo it.'

'I cannot, even if I wanted to – which I do not.'

'You can and must.'

'What is it, Myrddin? What is troubling you?'

Myrddin was silent for a long moment. 'It is the woman,' he said at last.

'What about her?' asked Arthur innocently. 'I saw nothing in her to cause such dread.'

'She is a queen… ' 'She is Fergus' daughter – '

'It is the same thing with them. Do you not know this? By accepting her, you are agreeing to marry her. Fergus would not have given her to you otherwise.' Arthur gaped stupidly at his Wise Counsellor. 'Well? Nothing to say, Mighty Duke? Did such a thing never occur to you?'

'On my life, I confess that it did not,' replied Arthur indignantly.

'It is true. This champion, Llenlleawg – he is Fergus' champion, yes; but he is the queen's protector first. And the gift of gold – her people's wealth,' said Myrddin in a softer tone. 'Arthur, it is her bride gift, and a greater gift could not be made. Fergus honours you highly – perhaps too highly.'

'What do you mean?' asked Arthur suspiciously. 'Among the Irish the kingship is passed through the woman to her husband.'

'Ha!' I crowed. 'You would be king of Ierne, Bear! Think of that!'

'It is no small thing!' snapped Myrddin. To Arthur he said, Think! The High King of Britain must have a British wife.'

Arthur glared at me and stiffened. 'That is my decision, surely. No man will tell me who I shall take to wife.'

'Your arrogance will cost you the High Kingship. The lords of Britain will never own you king with an Irish.queen for your wife. By accepting Fergus' daughter, you are declaring her above all the noble women of Britain, and so exalting Fergus above all the kings of Britain.'

The Duke folded his arms across his chest. Then so be it! What British king has ever treated me with half as much respect as this enemy has done?'

"Think what you are doing, Arthur. Give her back to Fergus,' Myrddin urged. 'My honour will not allow it!'

'It is pride you are talking about, not honour,' Myrddin Emrys told him flatly. 'If you take this woman, your precious honour will be ruined beyond all hope of repair. It will mean your kingdom and much else besides.'

The Duke glared at us, but said nothing.

'Please, do as your Wise Counsellor suggests and think about it, at least,' I told him, 'before you do something we will all regret.'

Myrddin and I left him there alone. 'Will he heed us, do you think?' I asked.

The truth? No, I do not expect that he will,' the Emrys said. Something in his voice made me wonder: sadness? despair? What did he foresee from this? Why would he not speak it out?

Well, he is like that. I do not presume to reckon his ways.

Arthur did not back down, and he did not decline Fergus mac Guillomar's tribute, though it would have saved him much pain, and not a little peace of mind to do so. But then, in so doing he would not be Arthur.

Fergus also brought another gift – no less valuable in its own way: news, which he shared with us over meat that night.

The Picti, he said, were massing in the northern wastes and appeared likely to strike southward before the summer was out. Ships had been seen slinking along the western coast and darting among the western islands. 'They seek blood vengeance for the defeat you gave them in Celyddon,' Fergus suggested. 'I would not be surprised if the Angli joined them in this. They will have nursed their defeat into hatred through the winter.'

'Have you word that the Angli will attack?' asked Arthur.

Fergus wagged his head from side to side. 'I do not. Neither do I have word that day will dawn in the east, yet I think it unwise to assume differently.'

Arthur thanked Fergus for these tidings, and nothing more was said at the time. But three days later, as the Irish made ready to leave, Arthur called Gwalchavad to him. 'Ready the remaining ships, we are sailing north with the tide.'

This he did as Cai and Bors assembled the warband. Myrddin and I held council with the Duke in his chambers. 'Wait at least until the kings can attend you,' I said. 'We should not be seen rushing into an ambush.'

'You doubt Fergus?'

'I do not doubt Fergus, but neither do I trust the Picti. We must strike quickly, I agree – but we must strike with force.'

'Every day we delay the enemy grows more daring. We will guard the coasts and harry them until the other kings join us.'

Myrddin leaned forward on his staff. 'It is not too late, Arthur. Send the woman and her protector back with Fergus. I will do it, if you like. Fergus will have no cause for offence.'

The Duke replied softly. 'I have given my word. I will not take it back.' That was the end of it certainly. But Myrddin was not finished.

'If you are determined, Arthur, let the lady and her treasure be escorted to Ynys Avallach. She will be safe there, and out of the way. My mother will welcome the company – perhaps she may even educate this fiery maid to some British manners.'

Arthur happily accepted this suggestion. 'So be it, Myrddin. I bow to your counsel.'

I was less than pleased, for in the same breath Arthur turned to me and said, 'You will take Gwenhwyvar to the Glass Isle, Bedwyr.'

'Me? Arthur, be reasonable! It is no fit task for a battlechief. You will need me with you. Let someone else go. Send Cai or, better yet, send Bors – he deems himself a hero with women. Any of your warriors will serve as well.'

Arthur clapped a big paw onto my shoulder. 'It must be you, my brother. I will not insult Fergus or his daughter by sending less of a man than my own champion.'

'It seems to me you put too much faith in that Irish rogue,' I grumbled. 'You worry more about imagined offence to your enemies than genuine insults to your friends.'

Sooner pour out your heart to a stone; I grumbled to no avail. Arthur's mind was made up and he would not be moved. I had no choice but to strike off at once for Ynys Avallach.

If I was unhappy with the arrangement, Gwenhwyvar was furious. She saw the preparations for battle and fully expected to fight. To be indifferently hauled away like a sack of grain kindled her wrath full well. I have never seen a woman so angry.

Her eyes blazed and her cheeks and throat blushed crimson. One look at the horse standing saddled before her and she dug in her heels. Her fingers became claws and her tongue a sharp and skilful lash with which she flayed the ears of those around her – Arthur especially, I think, as his name bubbled to the surface regularly. Unfortunately, much of her complaint was in the Irish tongue so I did not understand the finer shadings, but the general flow was manifestly clear.

I lightly touched her arm to move her towards the horse, and almost lost my hand. Her knife was out and in her hand quicker than a flick. She turned on me, livid and spitting. The dagger would have found its home in my heart if Llenlleawg had not put himself between Gwenhwyvar and me at that moment.

He spoke a sharp word or two and she subsided. The dagger slipped back to its sheath. Without another glance the queen swung herself into the saddle and jerked the reins smartly.

The Irishman turned to me. 'It was not seemly… I am sorry.'

His apology took me aback. 'It does not matter. But I want no further trouble.'

'I am your servant, Lord Bedwyr.'

'You know me?'

'Who has not heard of Bedwyr, Bright Avenger, Swift Sword of Arthur?' Llenlleawg moved away at once and mounted his horse. I stood looking after the tall young Irishman and wondering how far I could trust him. They are known to be a deceitful and wicked race, and the truth is not in them. Still, I wondered.