Caius had more than made up for his infirmity by learning to ride with such skill and grace that, once in the saddle, he became a wholly different person – one of those half-man-half-horse beings of the Latin books. He could coax miracles from any horse he happened to light upon; even the sorriest beast somehow performed better than its best with Caius on its back.
As the day was warm, the two stopped in the settlement to water their horses at the ford above the shore. Some children from the place were playing nearby and when the boys rode up they gathered around and, consequently, noticed Caius' crippled leg.
That was all it took. Instantly, they began to taunt and jeer. 'Cripple! Cripple!' they called, mocking his halting gait. They laughed loud and Caius lowered his head.
Arthur watched for a moment, appalled. Never had he witnessed such calculated cruelty. The jeering was bad enough, but when the older boys began throwing rocks at Caius, Arthur decided the thing had gone too far.
Balling his fists, he loosed a wild whoop and charged head down at the biggest ruffian, striking him squarely in the stomach. The startled youth fell on his back, legs kicking, with Arthur on his chest. Though the boy had three years' advantage, Arthur's size all but evened the contest.
It was a short scuffle, all told. The breath driven from his lungs – and Arthur sitting on his chest so that he could not draw another – the youth, fainting, lost consciousness for a moment.
The mocking stopped. The children looked on in astonishment. Arthur rose slowly to his feet, and, glowering with rage, demanded to know if anyone else had anything to say. No one did. The rascal came to and ran away; the rest quickly scattered. Caius and Arthur remounted and continued along the shore.
By the time they returned to the caer later in the day they were the best of friends, and Arthur had given Caius' name a Celtic cast. He was to be Cai ever after.
I suppose because he openly admired Cai's prowess as a horseman, it never occurred to Arthur to make fun of the way he walked or spoke-something too many others did, and with disheartening regularity.
But never Arthur. And for this, Arthur was rewarded with Cai's undying loyalty and devotion.
Cai, God bless him! He of the flame-bright hair and red-hot temper; whose pale blue eyes could darken as quickly as the summer sky above Caer Edyn with the storm's sharp fury; whose rare smile, when he gave it, could warm the coldest heart; whose brassy voice carried like a hunting horn through the glens as it would one day rally men on the field of battle… Cai, the dauntless; Cai, the dogged, willing to strive and go on striving long after another would have given up the fight for lost.
We spent those first bright days of autumn discovering Caer Edyn and the surrounding lands. Arthur made a game of it: seeing how far he could ride out of sight of the Rock, as he called it, before attempting to find his way back. Pelleas and I rode with him sometimes; more often, Cai went.
It was, he quickly learned, a strange land, full of surprises. The first was the large number of people living in the narrow, creased valleys that seamed the rugged hills. There were hundreds of these glens, each with its own smallholding or settlement. We soon came to expect them: a few rock-and-turf houses; long streamside fields for rye, oats, and barley; a pen for cattle and sheep; the round hump of a stone granary; an oven or two burning wood or pungent peat. Little clumps of people were sown all through the land, separated one from the other by the high, bleak hills.
There were woodlands aplenty, as well, and the hunting was good: boar and bear, hart, deer, wild sheep and hare, and various kinds of fowl – some, like the grouse, not found in the southlands. Eagles and hawks abounded, and there were fish of endless variety from river, lake, and sea.
In short, Arthur very soon came to view Caer Edyn and its lands as something of a paradise – and certainly less a place of exile than he first expected. It would have been perfect, but for the unspeakable winter.
However we weathered it and revelled in the short, brilliant spring. In all, Caer Edyn provided a splendid home for a boy. At my prodding, Ectorius sought and secured the services of a tutor for Arthur and Cai – one of the brothers from the new-built abbey at Abercurnig. Thus the Latin resumed, as well as reading and writing, under the indulgent rule of Melumpus.
Added to this, Ectorius began instructing Arthur in kingcraft: all the skills necessary to the sustaining of a kingdom and the effective leadership of men. Weapons practice continued, growing ever more demanding as the lads' skill increased.
Thus life settled into an easy rhythm of leisure and learning, work and play. The seasons passed and Arthur ceased longing for Bedwyr. He applied himself to his various lessons with diligence, if not fervour, becoming an able scholar.
In all, it should have been a good time for me. But I was not content. Thoughts of the Cran-Tara gnawed at me, and I could not shake them. As winter closed on us, I began to feel trapped on the rock of Caer Edyn. There were, I imagined, events taking place in the wider world – events of which I knew nothing. After years of activity, my enforced seclusion chafed me now. Day by day, I receded into myself, keeping my own counsel. And on the cold, grey days of wind and rain I paced the hall before the hearth, my mood, I fear, as cheerless as the day.
At last, it came into my mind that the small kings, led by Dunaut and Morcant, had discovered our hiding place and were even now moving against us. Although I knew Ector would receive ample warning of any enemy moving along the borders of his realm, I worried over this, and fear – irrational, yes, but potent all the same – coiled around my heart.
Pelleas watched me and worried. 'Master, what is it?' he asked at last, unable to bear my stormy restlessness any longer. 'Will you not speak?'
'I am suffocating here, Pelleas,' I told him bluntly.
'But Ectorius is a most-generous lord, he -'
'That is not my meaning,' I snapped. 'I am troubled and can get no peace. I fear, Pelleas, we have made a mistake in coming here.'
He did not doubt me; neither did he understand. 'We have had no word of any disturbance in the south. I might have thought that would cheer you.'
'Far from it!' I cried. 'It has only made me suspicious. Make no mistake, Dunaut and his ilk never rest. Even now they are scheming how to seize the throne – I can feel it.' I struck my chest with my fist. 'I feel it and it fills me with fear.'
The fire fluttered as the wind gusted under the door. A hound beside the hearth lifted his head and looked around slowly, then laid his muzzle back on his big paws.
A chance occurrence, signifying nothing; I do not believe in omens. Still, I felt a chill touch my spine, and it seemed as if the light in the hall dimmed.
'What will you do?' Pelleas asked after a moment.
A long silence stretched between us. The wind moaned and the fire cracked, but the strange feeling did not return. An ocean wave flung upon a rock, it had receded once more.
When I made no answer Pelleas said, 'What is your fear: that the petty lords will find us here, or that they no longer care to search?'
Staring into the fire, I saw the flame-shapes shifting and colliding and it seemed to me that forces were gathering, power was massing somewhere and I must find it to direct it aright. 'Both, Pelleas. And I cannot say which disturbs me more.'
His solution was simple: 'Then we must go and see how matters stand in the south. I will ready horses and provisions. We will leave at daybreak.'
I shook my head slowly, and forced a smile. 'How well you know me, Pelleas. But I will go alone. Your place is here. Arthur needs you.'