Only then did the churchman feel the sand wash out from beneath his feet. The colour drained from his face. Those with him did not yet perceive the fatal blow, though even as they watched the stroke was falling upon their uncomprehending heads.
Arthur raised another finger. 'Lastly, you lie when you say you have no sin, for you have sinned in the sight of these many witnesses since first you began to speak. I have no doubt that you would continue adding sin to sin were I to allow you to go on speaking.'
Bishop Daroc drew himself up. 'We are not under judgment here.'
'Are you not?' demanded Arthur. 'He is ever under judgment who bears false witness against his brother. The sun has not yet reached midday and already you have, in your own words, 'exchanged truth for a lie' – and not once only, but three times. For this you stand condemned out of your own mouth.'
Alight with righteous wrath, Arthur challenged, 'What have you to say, churchman? I am listening, but I do not hear your answer. Can it be that when you have no lie in your mouth you have nothing to say?'
The chagrined bishop, having no reply to offer, glowered at Arthur, but kept his mouth firmly shut.
'Too late you show wisdom,' Arthur told him. 'Would that you had thought to exercise it sooner. As it is, you have wasted much in a long and dangerous journey to flaunt your foolishness. I am certain you could have accomplished that without setting foot beyond Lindum. Or is there yet a further purpose to your visit? Some other grievance against your king?'
Bishop Daroc could not resist flashing a brief glance in Cador's direction, thereby betraying the true essence of the priests' complaint. His ears flushed red and colour rose in his cheeks.
'So!' Understanding broke like sunrise over Arthur's countenance. 'Myrddin warned me about holy men and worldly wealth. How well he knows your kind.'
'Indeed, lord,' remarked Cador. 'You should have heard their shrieking when I suggested we had need of the golden trinkets gathering dust in their treasure chests.'
Arthur addressed the bishops with thunder in his voice. 'You have lied to your king and borne false witness against your queen – for no better reason than because I sought relief and sustenance for my men in the wealth of the church I am sworn to defend. Your selfishness and pride – that only! – brought you here, and all who have witnessed this shameful exchange now see your naked greed and poverty of spirit.' He shook his head slowly. 'You are no Christian men.
'Hear me, sons of Vipers. For your sins you will be stripped and flogged and driven from this camp. You will be conducted to Llandaff, where the holy Illtyd, true priest of Christ, will decide your punishment. Pray that he has more compassion than I, for I tell you straight I will advise him to turn you out of the church lest you bring the Blessed Jesu himself into disrepute with your pride and ungodly conceit.'
So saying, the High King reached out and lifted the gold cross and chain from around Seirol's neck. 'You will no longer need this, I think; and we can use it here to buy food and drink for hungry warriors.'
He turned away from the sputtering cleric. 'Gwalchavad! Cador! Take them to Llandaff and tell Illtyd alclass="underline" charge him devise fit punishment.'
Cai watched as the odious priests were led away. 'You should have let me deal with them, Bear,' he said. 'God knows, they have already been the downfall of many.'
'Their punishment best comes at Illtyd's hand,' Arthur replied. 'For he is a holy man and they will not be able to console themselves with the secret thought that they were misunderstood or compelled unfairly by a pagan.'
He made to turn away, but Gwenhwyvar now stood before him, hands on hips, her shapely brows knit together and dark eyes ablaze. 'This matter is not ended yet, O King,' she said. 'I have been reviled for my birth in the sight of everyone here. Honour demands satisfaction.'
Suspecting a subtle trap, Arthur cocked his head to one side. 'What do you propose?' he asked warily.
'Just this: that I sail at once for Ireland and summon lords who, by the strength of their devotion, will make faithless Britons everywhere weak with envy and sick with shame to see such homage as my noble race shall offer.'
The last clouds of anger lifted then from Arthur's brow. He looked at his wife; sharp appraisal mingled with deep appreciation, and what? Gratitude? Recognition, yes. He saw in her a soul as staunch and zealous as his own, fiercely loyal and steadfast through all things and, like himself, more than a match for a handful of fallacious monks and faltering lords.
The Bear of Britain smiled and relented. 'Men of valour are ever welcome at my side,' he said, speaking loud for all to hear. 'And if the nobles of Ierne prove more loyal servants of Britain than Britain's own sons, so be it. Let those who abandon faith and fealty bear the shame of their disgrace. Wickedness and deceit have no place in my realm, and any man who embraces the truth is friend to me.'
Gwenhwyvar kissed him then, and the embrace was lauded by the throaty cheers of all who looked on. The queen sailed on the next tide with ships enough to bring the Irish back; twelve ships and men enough to crew them. At Arthur's behest, Llenlleawg and I went with her.
TWO
We made landfall in the bay below Muirbolc. Commanding Barinthus and his men to hold the ships ready to sail, we made our way at once to Fergus' stronghold, which we found utterly abandoned. The houses were vacant and the hall was silent, though cattle stood in the pen and there were horses in the stable. We dismounted and stood in the yard, wondering where they had gone, and when. Gwenhwyvar moved towards the hall.
'Allow me,' Llenlleawg told her, darting ahead. He disappeared inside and emerged but a moment later to announce: 'It is not long abandoned! The ash bed in the hearth is warm yet.'
Gwenhwyvar remounted her horse. 'We will go to Rath Mor,' she said. 'It may be that Conaire knows what has happened here.'
We turned our horses and hastened into the wood on the trail leading to Conaire's stronghold. We had not ridden far, however, when Llenlleawg halted in the track ahead and held up his hand. 'Listen!'
I paused and attuned myself to the sounds around me. Birds warbled overhead, and the horses champed and chafed the ground with their hooves. Beyond that, the light breeze fluttered leaves in the higher branches, and higher still, a hawk keened its lonely cry. Was this what had halted Llenlleawg?
No. There was something else. I heard it now-as if coming on a wave of the wind: the wailing shriek I recognized at once as the screech of the Irish pipes.
'It is the piobairachd of battle,' the Irish champion said. 'There must be a fight.'
'This way!' cried Gwenhwyvar, pushing past us and away. We continued on the trail for a short distance, then Gwenhwyvar led us off the track beside a small brook, reduced to little more than a bare trickle through the undergrowth.
It was cooler down in the little dingle, and as we splashed along I noticed the sound of the pipes growing gradually louder, until… mounting the bank of the brook, we burst from the tree-lined shade and onto a broad wood-surrounded meadow adazzle in the sun.
And there on the meadow were two mounted forces arrayed and positioned for battle. Between these, alone and on foot, facing one another were Conaire and Fergus, brandishing the huge two-handed cldimor, the ancient clan sword. Both blades glinted as the combatants whirled them around their heads.
Gwenhwyvar took one look at the flashing swords and lashed her horse. 'Yah!' she cried, and galloped across the meadow, yelling, 'Stop that! Stop it, I say!'
'Father!' the queen shouted, flying directly to the centre of the clash. She slid from the saddle before her mount had stopped. 'Are you mad? What are you doing?'
'Stay back, daughter,' Fergus answered. He was stripped to the waist and gleaming with sweat and oil. He had been anointed for battle and the sunlight made every muscle glisten and gleam. There were leather bands at his wrists and binding his legs from knee to ankle. In all, he appeared a Celt from another time as he leaned upon his great weapon, breathless from his exertion. 'This is a fight to the death.'