Chapter Sixteen
Trevor Stirling and Ancelotis caught up with Artorius just a few miles short of Caer-Birrenswark, by riding three good horses into the ground, switching mounts at three of the fortified towns in Galwyddel. Artorius had done the same thing, they discovered, but was traveling at a slightly less frantic pace, which gave Stirling and the king of Gododdin the chance they desperately needed to catch Artorius up. They passed a column of foot soldiers heading south out of Galwyddel, presumably the men Morgana had sent to Caer-Badonicus, and—of greater surprise—they met Lailoken, the minstrel, who was also heading south.
"Have you seen the Dux Bellorum?" Ancelotis asked, flagging the minstrel down.
Lailoken gave him a searching look, then nodded, pointing back the way he'd come. "Aye, perhaps ten miles further on. He was moving fast. Is there trouble?"
"I've a message for him. They said in Caerleul you rode out with Queen Morgana?"
"That I did," the minstrel nodded, "but I left her these several days past. She had private business away from Caer-Birrenswark and when a queen is not in residence, there's little enough work for a court minstrel."
"You don't know where she's gone, then?"
"That I don't, I'm afraid. Myself, I'm riding south, to join kinsmen."
A glint of some private mirth the minstrel did not wish to share caught Stirling's attention, but Ancelotis was too distracted by worry to notice. "Godspeed to you then, and the less said of this, the better."
"I am the soul of discretion," the minstrel murmured, sweeping a bow from the waist, a bow that held an elusive, mocking quality, disturbing Trevor Stirling once again, but Ancelotis was already putting heels to his horse's flanks, sending them galloping down Artorius' trail. Only ten miles more to catch him and Ancelotis was waiting for nothing and no one.
Their fourth horse was beginning to show the strain, when the Dux Bellorum finally came into sight. Ancelotis pulled loose the signal horn strapped to his saddle and gave a good, loud blast that carried a long way. Artorius pulled up and turned in the saddle, peering back with one hand raised to shade his eyes. They came thundering down the final stretch of road, the lathered horse blowing with distended nostrils.
"What news?" Artorius asked tersely as Ancelotis pulled his mount to a sliding stop.
"The same that sent you racing for Caer-Birrenswark," Ancelotis replied, voice grim. "I'll not believe ill of Morgana, whatever you've been told. Nor will Thaney, who begged me to ride after you."
Artorius' glare made summer storms seem mild. "This is my affair! As Dux Bellorum—"
"If you were here as Dux Bellorum, the cataphracti would be riding at your heels."
The jibe scored; Artorius flushed a dark red. "Morgana is my stepsister, which makes it a personal matter."
"And she is my sister-in-law, which makes it a personal matter to me, as well."
The measuring look Artorius leveled at him only served to stiffen Ancelotis' resolve and left Stirling very glad, indeed, that this man was not his declared enemy. At length, Artorius let go a weary sigh and turned his gaze to stare down the road toward Caer-Birrenswark, the uppermost tower of which could just be seen across the treetops. "I am desperately hoping history will not repeat. It would be agony to condemn Morgana, as I once was forced to condemn Marguase."
"Morgana is no poisoner. Nor will I believe her a traitor without a great deal more proof than whatever letter Covianna handed you."
A startled look broke loose. "Thaney knew about that?"
"Oh, yes. She persuaded the minstrel to confess to it, after you left Caerleul in such a tearing hurry, without a word to anyone."
Artorius snorted. "I pity the poor minstrel, then. Your niece is a woman I would not care to cross."
Ancelotis grinned. "In that, we are fully agreed. May I see the letter?"
The Dux Bellorum hesitated, then fished into a leather satchel strapped behind his saddle and handed over a folded bit of vellum. Ancelotis read it quickly, while Stirling attempted to make out what it said. He could understand spoken Brythonic, thanks to the merging of his mind with Ancelotis', but the written form still baffled him. Ancelotis translated silently, leaving Stirling groaning under his breath. It looked very bad, indeed, if this were an accurate rendering of the conversation Covianna claimed to have overheard. Alliance with the Irish, through a marriage between Medraut and the heiress to Dalriada... Little wonder Artorius had rushed north to try and stop Morgana from committing irrevocable folly.
He had just handed back the scrap of vellum when several fast-moving horsemen appeared from the direction of Caer-Birrenswark. Artorius muttered, "More bad news, it looks like," an assessment Ancelotis was forced to agree with, particularly when the riders came close enough to identify as soldiers of Galwyddel's cataphracti. When their officer recognized the Dux Bellorum, they drew to a halt to greet Artorius. The man spoke without preamble.
"Have you seen Lailoken, the minstrel?"
A queasy sensation hit Stirling square in the gut as Ancelotis answered. "I spoke briefly with him, some ten miles further back." He gestured down the road that led toward Caerleul.
"Then we may yet catch the bastard. King Medraut sent us to fetch the god-cursed traitor back for trial."
Even as Ancelotis gasped, the Dux Bellorum said in a soft and dangerous voice, "King Medraut? Mean you not Queen Morgana?"
The officer hesitated, clearly upset by that piece of news, as well as whatever disaster Lailoken might have unleashed. The man cleared his throat, then said, "No, it was King Medraut who gave the orders to find the minstrel. The abbot of Caer-Birrenswark himself drew up the agreement to transfer the throne of Galwyddel to Medraut. That news was startling enough, but the lad, er, the new king has also married."
An unhappy look darkened the man's eyes. "It seems utter insanity, but Father Auliffe has lent the support of the Holy Church to Medraut's marriage and I cannot imagine a man less likely to support treason. Medraut has married the heiress to Dalriada, you see, and the abbot swears it is a good alliance with nothing of treachery in either the girl or her father. The hope was to secure the northern border between Strathclyde and Dalriada against invasion. And it might have worked, truly it might, only..." He hesitated.
"Only what?" Artorius growled, eyes dark and grim.
"Only Lailoken has betrayed all of Britain. He's a Saxon agent, in the pay of King Aelle."
"Lailoken, a Saxon spy?" Ancelotis asked, eyes widening in astonishment. "How can that possibly be proved? I've seen the man in my brother Lot's court and he spent a week or so entertaining the soldiers of Caer-Iudeu. You saw him yourself, Artorius, at Rheged's festivals. He's a comic buffoon and a passable minstrel, but a spy?"
The officer nodded, eyes bleak. "A Saxon spy and much else as well, I fear. There is far worse news than Medraut's marriage to Keelin of Dalriada. Lailoken is a poisoner. A monstrous saboteur. While he and Medraut visited Fortress Dunadd to arrange the marriage with King Dallan mac Dalriada, he poisoned the entire city, poisoned the wells, at least that's what Father Auliffe and Queen Morgana suspect. A Briton slave escaped across the border into Strathclyde and rode for Galwyddel with the news that all of Dunadd is dead, down to the infants at their mothers' breasts. Vomiting, convulsions, paralysis—it was no natural plague that killed those poor bastards." Distress roughened the man's voice.
The image struck Trevor Stirling with a familiar sense of horror, even as Ancelotis and Artorius went stiff with shock. Biological warfare was a reality Stirling had witnessed before, in the twenty-first century, but neither the king of Gododdin nor the Dux Bellorum had any experience with such atrocity.