Deeper in the chest, he lifted out a ladies' gown in a delicate, porcelain-thin shade of lavender and ornamented with Celtic embroidery, with tiny freshwater seed pearls sewn to the embroidered bodice. Well worthy of adorning the wealthiest of queens, the gown had been commissioned by Ganhumara, the seamstress had explained, but it had ended up in Morgana's basket, with the donation of a very heavy purse and the suggestion that Ganhumara be told the gown had been ruined during the sewing.
When Medraut's new Irish queen appeared wearing it, there would be trouble, all right, trouble that Morgana, at least, seemed quite able to take in stride. If Lailoken had read the situation correctly, the purloined gown was Morgana's way of saying, "Interfere in my nephew's life and my business again and I shall gladly see you ruined, as easily I plucked this bauble out of your grasp."
Lailoken thought the joke enormously funny.
So did Banning.
The princess, forgetting the formal protocols of court business, came around her father's throne like a bow shot, exclaiming over the gown, its iridescent sheen of color, its texture and the soft, sensual feel of the silk under her fingers. "What is it?" she asked in an awed voice, her Brythonic as fluent as Riona's. "I have never seen its like!"
The other women had gathered to feel the softness and exclaim over it.
Medraut rose gallantly to the occasion. "It is called silk. The people of a country far, far to the east spin it, they say, from the cocoons of special caterpillars. We traded for the silk from Constantinople, which trades with lands as far as can be imagined. The master seamstress of Caerleul, who sews the gowns for Queen Thaney of Rheged and Queen Ganhumara of Caer-Guendoleu, turns raw silk into artwork for the finest ladies to wear."
The girl was enchanted with the gown, holding it up to herself and swirling about to see how it moved, eyes sparkling like liquid sunlight at the result. The pale lavender hue had been a fortuitous choice, complementing the girl's coloring divinely. And Ganhumara and the Irish heiress were of close enough size that the gown should fit strikingly well. Even her father unbent enough to smile a little at her open delight. Lailoken decided the moment was auspicious to complete Morgana's message.
"These gifts are yours, whatever you decide in the matter of alliance, but Queen Morgana hopes they will serve as a token of the bride fortune Galwyddel offers for the Dalriadan heiress' marriage to Medraut. Queen Morgana has proposed that she meet the King of Dalriada and his lovely daughter in person, along the shore of Galwyddel, at the standing stone circle of Lochmaben, on the next full moon night. The king is invited to bring his councillors and armed retainers, if that is his pleasure, but for her part, Queen Morgana has faith in the open-handed offer she has made and will wait at the Lochmaben Stones without resorting to armed escort at her back.
"She trusts, as well, that you will understand any mischief which might befall her would be repaid by her brother, Artorius, the Dux Bellorum of all the Britons, who has led British armies to victory in eleven battles against the Saxons. This is the double message she sends, offerings of gentle alliance, backed with the might of Briton military strength, a strength which can assist allies as readily as it can threaten enemies. Thus speaks Queen Morgana of Galwyddel and Ynys Manaw, to her brother king of Dalriada and his lovely heiress."
He gave them a formal bow, then waited.
Riona Damhnait translated the long speech, speaking with great care to choose the correct nuances of meaning, that much was obvious in both her expression and the lovely princess', as well, since she, too, had understood every word Lailoken had uttered. He wondered briefly why the girl had learned Brythonic, but her father had not. Ah, well, who could explain the oddities of Irish custom?
King Dallan mac Dalriada listened with hooded eyes, although the occasional quirk of brow or lips betrayed surprise. When the translation ended, he glanced curiously at Medraut and Lailoken, then gave a lengthy response. Riona Damhnait gave them both a smile and said, "King Dallan will consider very carefully your offer of alliance and thanks you for the honor to his royal house and to his heiress. He offers his hospitality in return for the duration of this storm and suggests that you must be cold and miserable in your wet clothing. Servants will take you to guest quarters, where you may change into warm and dry garments and unpack your things from your wet baggage.
"King Dallan will order a great feast tonight, to honor your presence and your generous offer. The sailors will be shown every courtesy, as well, in the servants' quarters, with dry clothing, a warm fire, and plenty to eat. If the others from the ship wish to warm themselves, as well, they are welcome at the fortress or at any cottage in the village." Her lips quirked briefly. "King Dallan understands that yon captain may be wary of leaving his boat unmanned in an Irish harbor, reluctant to place his entire crew in reach of Irish prisons, so he offers a trade in hostages, if that would please your captain?"
She gestured to the young girl sitting at the princess' feet. "Princess Keelin's little cousin, Fineena, is much beloved by King Dallan, and would enjoy, I think, a chance to see a Briton boat, for she loves the sea already and delights in the little boat she and Keelin keep at the harbor."
The beautiful Keelin's eyes widened in alarm, but she made no sound, clearly not wishing to frighten her cousin with a display of her own fear. It was an effective offer, the safety of the child for the safety of the crew. Lailoken bowed. "I am sure the captain would be delighted to show Princess Fineena his beautiful fishing sloop. After all, should this alliance be cemented in marriage, the child would be welcome on any boat in British waters, at her disposal to visit her cousin in Galwyddel's lovely capital."
Keelin relaxed a trifle, darting glances at Medraut, who was smiling down at the little girl in a friendly fashion. Fineena, aware of the sudden interest in her, toddled to her feet and slipped her hand into Keelin's, clutching a little doll to her chest with the other. She glanced up at her cousin, who murmured reassuringly in Gael, evidently translating the offer, since Fineena brightened at once and replied in a clear little voice, obviously excited. The child, all innocence, had no inkling of her abrupt new status as hostage. Lailoken sent the child a smile, as well, but the smile behind his eyes was for the image of little Fineena lying in a puddle of blood, a gift to repay the Dalriadans for Lailoken's own little girl, butchered by Irish bastards off a Dalriadan ship.
He was still smiling as servants escorted them out of the grand hall.
Chapter Thirteen
Trevor Stirling and King Ancelotis were exhausted by the time Caerleul's great sandstone walls appeared on the road in front of them. Both guest and host looked forward to a long, hot soak in the Roman baths, a good hot meal, and undisturbed sleep in a soft bed. But the moment they entered the town, they discovered something badly amiss. The townspeople were frightened, deeply agitated, and sent unreadable looks after them.
I mislike this, Ancelotis muttered silently to his guest.
Bloody right, Stirling agreed, deeply uneasy over the mood of these people.
The moment they approached the royal villa, Queen Thaney rushed out to greet them.
"Ancelotis!" she cried, flinging herself into her uncle's arms. "Oh, thank God you've come!"
"What is it?" Ancelotis asked urgently, drying tears that had begun to spill down her cheeks. "Meirchion isn't..." he began, sudden dread striking him.