While it did appeal to the vanity of men like Morganwg of Dumnonia, also very wealthy and very proud, who saw in the proposition the flash of imperial purple, it did not sit well with others who might have been persuaded, but recognized and resented Dunaut's vaunting ambition for what it was. The thought of Dunaut as High King over them, free to do as he pleased because he ruled the warhost unopposed could not be stomached, let alone seriously supported.
Time and again the debate foundered on this point; and, until it was settled, Dunaut and his supporters would allow no other to be raised. Other voices, other issues, battered down, ignored, discouraged in a hundred different ways, fell by the way.
Resentment grew, hardened; animosity spread; hostility flourished. It began to appear as if Bishop Urbanus' worst fears would come to bloody fruition: the next High King of Britain would only be chosen by the sharp edge of the sword.
Then something unforeseen happened. Two unsuspected allies appeared to forestall the rush to bloodshed: Ygerna, and Lot of Orcady; two whose sudden and unannounced emergence fairly startled the assembly, preoccupied as it was with thinking itself the centre of all creation.
Lot ap Loth, of the tiny island fastness of the Orcades in the far north, with his black braided locks and armbands of enamelled gold, the blue, woad-stained clan marks on his cheeks, and his crimson-and-black checked cloak, seemed a visitor from the Otherworld. He arrived with all the frost of a northern winter, unconcerned with the stir his coming provoked: young, high-spirited, but with such calm command that his glance unsettled kings twice his age.
The council had just reconciled itself to Lot's presence when Ygerna appeared. With an escort of Uther's chieftains – those who were still with her – she strode purposefully into the church, looking stern and strong and beautiful. Arrayed regally and simply, Ygerna wore a dove-grey cloak over a white mantle edged in silver; a slim golden tore encircled her throat. Every line of her body spoke eloquently of authority and reserve. Her grace and poise served a rebuke to the fatuous posing of the petty kings.
That these two should arrive so suddenly, and on the heels of one another, was perhaps more than coincidence. It was certainly uncanny in the effect it had on the council. For suddenly the mood of the assembly changed, as the lords evaluated the newcomers and calculated how best to make use of these unknown quantities. No one, I am quite convinced, had given a thought to either of them, or considered that they might have a part in the proceedings.
Indeed, in my own dealings with Ygerna I had completely overlooked the fact that, as Uther's widow, she maintained the right of sitting in council. And now that she was here I experienced the momentary fear that her presence would cause the gathered kings to remember something else: Aurelius' son. But apparently no one knew or remembered, for nothing was said. Perhaps the secret was safe after all.
As for Lot, because he lived on the rim of the world, everyone else apparently assumed that he would have no interest in the affairs of the rest of the realm. So no one had summoned him. Nevertheless, he had heard and he had come.
I confess that I did not welcome his arrival – but for reasons other than the threat of whatever claim he might make to the High Kingship. No, it was his bloodline that concerned me. Lot was the son of Loth, of course; and Loth had been the husband of Morgian.
That Morgian's son should appear as out of the north-island mist alarmed me more than a little. What did it mean? Was Morgian behind it? Need I even wonder?
No doubt Morgian saw in the king choosing an opportunity for gaining power of a kind different from what she already possessed. But why send the boy? Why not come herself? Where was Lot's father?
These things concerned me in no small measure. As I stared at Lot across the council ring, I tried to discern what kind of man he was. But, aside from the obvious fact that he, like many in the bleak north, loved his colour bright and his manner ostentatious, I could discover nothing.
At one point in the proceedings Lot caught me watching him. His reaction puzzled me: he gazed back for a moment, then slowly smiled and touched the back of his hand to his forehead in the ancient acknowledgment of lordship. Then, as if dismissing me from his mind, he turned his attention back to the assembly.
When, much later that day, the council finished, I waited for Ygerna in the yard outside the church, watching the builders. The masons were making use of the day's last light to move the huge keystone of the great arch. The ropes they used were too small for the task and their levers were too short. For all their labour, and their energetic cursing, they could shift the enormous stone but a few paces.
As soon as Ygerna entered the yard she saw me and hurried to me, two of her chiefs following at a respectful distance behind. 'Do not be angry with me, Myrddin,' she began at once. 'I know what you are thinking.' •
'Do you indeed?'
'You are thinking that I have no place here, that I should have stayed in Tintagel, that I will only make things worse for my presence.'
I grinned with pleasure; she was not so purposeful and self-assured as she seemed. 'Ygerna, I am glad you have come; you have as much right here as any of the others. And you could not make matters worse than they already are, if that were your sole ambition. So, you see, you have no cause to feel unwelcome.'
She smiled, the corners of her mouth bending down. 'Well, you may not think so when I ask you what I have in my mind to ask.'
'Ask then, but do not think anything you ask will change my mind.'
Glancing quickly round – a kitchen girl about to speak a guilty secret – Ygerna said softly, 'I must ask you to return Uther's sword to me.'
I considered this for a moment.
'You see?' the queen remarked sulkily. 'You are angry now.'
'Please, I am not angry. But why the sword?'
'I have seen what is happening here. They treat me well enough, but I am ignored. If they will not recognize me, perhaps they will recognize the sword.'
It is not the first time a woman's heart read the matter truly, and far more quickly than any man might arrive at the same conclusion. After only one day in council, she had discerned the crux of the thing: without any power of her own, she would be ignored – politely perhaps, but ignored all the same.
'Well? May I have it back?'
'Of course, my lady. But what do you plan to do with it?'
She shook her head. 'That will come to me when it comes. I will send Kadan to fetch it tonight.'
'I will have it ready for him.'
That settled, she turned to pleasantries. 'It was a most enjoyable journey – not like the last time… ' She paused, remembering when she had come with Gorlas and Uther. 'And yet, I shall never forget that journey. It was the first time I saw Uther – the first time for so many things it seems.'
We walked together along the narrow street to a nearby house, where she had lodging. 'Dine with me tonight, Myrddin,' she offered. 'Unless you have made better plans.'
'I have no other plans,' I replied. 'And certainly none better. I would be honoured to dine with you, Ygerna. And I will bring the sword.'
She smiled winningly. 'In truth, you are not angry?'
'Who am I to be angry with you?'
She shrugged. 'I just thought you might be.'
I returned to Gradlon's house, where Pelleas was waiting outside the door. 'He came here with his men. There was nothing I could do.'
I observed five thick-necked, stout-legged horses tied to the rings in the side of the wall. 'Who has come, Pelleas?'