He cleared his throat, looking longingly at a wine flask, so that the girl behind her father's throne spoke to a servant. Wine was poured and carried to them on a carved wooden platter, rough stuff in ordinary clay cups, but it served wonderfully well for all its metallic burr on the tongue, to wet his throat and warm his quaking innards.
"Aye, it's a grand custom that, keeps the peace in families with proud sons and nephews and daughters looking to be battle queens in their own right, as is Morgana of Galwyddel and Ynys Manaw."
"You do not name her queen of Gododdin, yet her sons will rule there." Riona waited patiently for the explanation. Medraut started to answer, flushed, and glanced at Lailoken, the properly designated spokesman. He gestured at the lad to continue, for the alliance would sink or swim on how Medraut disported himself in this hall, not on any eloquence Lailoken might muster. If the king's daughter found him repulsive, if the king found him a doltish colt with no hope of ruling much of anything save a household of ill-mannered brats, nothing that Lailoken said would alter the reality—or King Dallan's decision. They'd best know straightaway what sort of lad they would be marrying their heiress to, the sooner the better.
Medraut, catching at least some of Lailoken's train of thought in his rapidly shifting expression, nodded and took a moment to compose himself.
"I, Medraut, nephew to Queen Morgana of Galwyddel and Ynys Manaw, will explain, if it is permitted?" The boy's voice only quavered on a couple of the words. It was a gallant effort, one not lost on Dallan mac Dalriada's daughter, who smiled and blushed prettily in understanding, a smile so radiant Medraut blossomed under her approving regard. He bowed to her father and then to her, then launched into his portion of the explanation.
"My aunt is sovereign queen of two Briton lands, Ynys Manaw from her father Gorlois and Galwyddel from her mother. Her sister Morguase was my mother. When she died, Aunt Morgana raised me with gentle and loving concern for my education and my place in the royal affairs of my family. Morgana married the king of Gododdin and bore him two fine sons, my cousins Gwalchmai and Walgabedius. Gwalchmai is but six years of age and Walgabedius younger still.
"This is critical, for their father, Lot Luwddoc of Gododdin, was killed not yet a fortnight ago fighting Pictish raiders at the northern border with Fortriu. Gwalchmai and Walgabedius are too young to rule the kingdoms they have inherited. Lot Luwddoc's brother Ancelotis has been named king by Gododdin's council until Gwalchmai is of age to rule in his own right. The throne was offered to Morgana, as his widow and mother of his heirs, but she has strong responsibilities in Ynys Manaw and Galwyddel and these are uncertain times. So she has left her sons' inheritance in excellent and capable hands and has turned her attention to her borders on the western coast of Britain."
Riona nodded. "Where Dalriadan Irish have invaded through Galwyddel, albeit striking immediately north." She smiled to acknowledge the high price Irish fighting men had been made to pay at the hands of Briton military strength along that particular border. "I am told the Irish traders sailing the waters between fair Eireland and Dalriada are not above piracy. And the Picts are barbaric trouble for us all."
Medraut bowed. "You grasp our situation well."
Too well, perhaps, given the speculative look in her eyes. Lailoken hastened to interject his own spin on the situation and take the conversation back to Morgana's official offer. "It has occurred to Morgana that catching the Picts between two allied forces would help put an end to this particular blue-tattooed irritant. But there is much more to this offer of alliance, much that is of very great importance to both our peoples, of Britain and of Dalriada—and even of great importance to Eire, as well."
Riona translated all of this to King Dallan, who gazed at them for a long moment through narrowed eyes, then gestured for them to continue the tale they were spinning.
Here it goes, Lailoken took a deep breath, the most important bloody speech of your life... Then he launched once more into Morgana's message.
"You have perhaps heard that the Germanic barbarians of Saxony and Jutland are leaving the continent by the shipload, intent on carving out kingdoms for themselves? Younger sons who have no hope of inheriting a throne, not with the Germanic people's right of firstborn sons to inherit title, throne, land, and the wealth their peasants hand over to the king's keeping. Where, then, do younger sons look for wealth and land and throne? To others' borders.
"Britain's shores are both close and wealthy. With the Romans gone, they believed the Britons to be an easy conquest. Our war leader, Artorius the Dux Bellorum, has proven to them that Briton wolves still have fangs. We have kept them bottled up in the far southeastern corner of our large island. Morgana sees with very clear eyes where the Saxons of Sussex and Wessex will turn for easier plunder, when we next defeat them in war—and that war looms large on our horizon, a matter of only weeks, perhaps.
"When the Saxons are driven back—and we will drive them back, never mistake that outcome—where will these self-anointed Saxon kinglets turn their sword blades? To Eire, King Dallan mac Dalriada, to Eire and her young but already wealthy colony of Dalriada. Morgana would not have war between the Saxons and the Dalriadan Irish with her borders so dangerously close to the war zone, not when alliance between us now can stop such disasters before they have a chance to befall us.
"Why should Morgana send these enemies of Galwyddel north to make war on a people who are, after all, as Celtic as we Britons, sharing in common many things, while the Saxons are alien in their ways, Germanic and barbaric? When their bid to force entrance into Rheged's high council failed, Prince Cutha of Sussex left the royal villa in a state of rage and burned the farmholds and villages for a terrible swath of miles, butchering every man, woman, and infant in his path. To have seen little children"—he glanced at a girl of perhaps five seated cross-legged near the princess' feet—"literally cut into pieces and flung about the kitchen yard like so much spoiled meat for the hogs..."
He shuddered, quite convincingly. "When we Britons drive these bastards into the sea, they will come at Irish coasts, butcher Irish girls and lads barely old enough to toddle across a floor. This, too, Queen Morgana refuses to allow. Should Britain sit back on its laurels and do nothing when Saxons rip apart the Irish coastal villages and farmholds? Should Britain do nothing at all when Saxons strike Dalriada, stirring up so much trouble with the Picts that Irish men-at-arms will find themselves struggling to survive on two fronts, against Saxons and Pictish insurrection?
"Alliance will give Galwyddel and Dalriada strong partners to keep the Saxons out of northern Britain and Scotti-land. Alliance will give Dalriada access to much more than mutual protection from this new enemy. We have brought gifts, tokens of the trade Dalriada may secure for herself with the far-flung lands of the Roman Empire. British crews can teach Irish captains the trading routes and the languages in which to do the bargaining. Here," he had one of the sailors open the heavy chest, "are tokens of what treasures may be found in the ports British ships enter every year."
He took out a section of elephant tusk, raw ivory cut from an African beast's jaws, and several items fashioned from another length of that same tusk: delicately carved bracelets and boxes with pierced-work patterns in Celtic scrollwork design, combs for a lady's hair, amber from the far north, raw pieces and a necklace of matched amber beads wrapped round with gold wire. Black sable furs caught and cured by trappers deep in the land that Banning said would one day be called Russia, the rich pelts sewn into supple, beautiful cloaks and muffs to warm the hands, with sable hoods lined in ermine, the stark white trim offsetting the black beautifully.