Leprosy! In spite of my revulsion at the thought of it, I found myself, incredibly, smothering a smile at the thought of what Derek's reaction to such knowledge might have been had I mentioned the matter during our discussion.
Derek and I had reached the edge of the trees and were now on the point of entering the pathway through the piled up stones bounding the cultivated fields. Derek grunted and straightened up to his full height, abruptly reining his horse to a halt and craning his neck to gaze along to the left of the line of stones. My own mount stopped when he was nose to tail with the other, but Derek was already moving again, turning his horse off the track and into the boulder- strewn ground among the trees. Curious, I followed him, our progress slow as our garrons ventured forward delicately and with great care on the uneven, treacherous ground.
"By the light of Lud," Derek growled. "Look at the size of that whoreson."
On the lower edge of the miles-long pile of stones, concealed from me until now by Derek's bulk and the bole of a silver birch, a great, gaunt wolf lay sprawled in death, its back arched violently against nature in the extremity of its last convulsion. Its enormous front toes were spread wide like the fingers of some hairy giant's hand, and its entire hindquarters, including its heavy tail, were stiff with blackened blood. The air was filled with the hum of the thousands of green and blue flies that swarmed upon the carcass.
Derek had already swung down from his horse, and I watched as he made his way cautiously over the loose- piled stones to where he could reach the dead beast. Ignoring the swarming flies, he bent his knees and grasped the front and hind legs closest to the ground, then straightened with a grunting heave, throwing the carcass onto its other side. The cause of death came into view at once: a flighted, blood-encrusted arrow protruding from the right side of the belly, its smooth shaft slashed and gouged by the frantic creature's snapping teeth. The wolf, a full- grown male, was larger than any I had seen in the southern regions, and it was grey, with whitish tinges in its coat. Standing on its hind legs, I thought, this thing could have rested its elbows on my shoulders and its maw would have engulfed my face.
"Gut shot," Derek said. "Owen was right." He stretched a hand to run his fingers through the ruff of fur beneath the massive neck. "Fine pelt. A shame to lose it. This one was in his prime. Look at that."
"That" was the creature's canine teeth, bared in its dying snarl ..They were long and shining white, unmarred by stains. Derek straightened up and moved back to his horse.
"Who's Owen?" I asked him. He kicked his horse into motion, leading the way back to the track again.
"My son, my first-born. Shot at this thing last night, just at dusk, about two miles from here, along the valley. He was in the fields. It was running along the wall there, on the other side. Couldn't tell whether he had hit it or not—grey light, grey wolf, grey stones. Couldn't find his arrow afterwards, of course, but that meant nothing. He shot into the stones, so it could have deflected in any direction. He'll be glad to know he shot the beast, but he'll be sick when I tell him how big it was. A good robe wasted, that's all he'll think of."
We rode clear of the stones and his garron broke into a loping gallop, challenging my own to keep up with him, and for a space we let them run. When they finally slowed their pace, I rode up alongside the king again.
"How many sons do you have, Derek?"
We were close to the road by this time, and he did not respond until we had reached it and turned right, towards the town.
"Eleven," he said eventually. "And many daughters."
I was amazed, for I had guessed his age to be no more than six or seven years greater than my own. He must have noticed my reaction. "Out of five wives," he added.
"Five? You have had four wives die?"
He looked at me then as though he thought me mad, and then he laughed. "No, Christian" he said. I have had five wives pregnant much of the time."
I winced at my own clumsiness. Polygamy was not uncommon among the pagan people in the isolated parts of Britain.
"How old is Owen?" I asked! attempting to gloss over my gaffe.
"Seventeen."
"And your youngest son, how old is he?"
"Nine."
"Just slightly older than young Arthur." He threw me a sidewise look and I hurried on. "How many daughters have you?"
"Too many. Which one is Arthur? There were three with you."
"Four. Arthur is the oldest, the one with the gold- coloured eyes. He's eight."
'That one. I thought it would be him. I saw the eyes, like a young kestrel's. Is the woman his mother? The good- looking one with the face of a hawk?"
"Shelagh, you mean. No, she is Donuil's wife. Donuil is—"
"Aye, Connor's brother. I recalled him from our first meeting. What of the other woman?"
'That's Turga, the boy's nurse."
"Nurse? At eight he requires a nurse?"
"No, of course not, but he is all she has, and they are close."
"Where is his mother, then?"
"Dead, long since." I tried to shut out the image of her death on the beach in far-off Cornwall, and the sight of Derek rising to face me from his interrupted rape of her, his moist, erect phallus gleaming in the afternoon light. He had no idea who she was, or that his horse had crushed her skull thereafter.
"Hmm ... So you are father and mother both. You feel responsible for him?"
I looked at him, wondering at the question, unsure where it was leading.
"Yes," I said, nodding. "I am ... aware of a responsibility."
"Try being a king some day, my friend, then talk to me of responsibility. It pains me, I'll admit it, to refuse what you have asked of me, but I see no other choice. Danger to myself I could accept, but to endanger my people needlessly by taking on the risk you represent would be unforgivable ... If there were even half a chance the child might escape detection I might consider otherwise. But the son of Pendragon, escorted by Merlyn of Camulod? No I cannot take that risk."
I nodded once again, recognizing and accepting the finality of his decision. "So be it," I replied. "I understand your situation."
For the remainder of our ride back into Ravenglass my mind was busy with logistics. I suspected that Connor's crew might already have unloaded our possessions and supplies from his galley, at least, and perhaps from one of the other two. If that were the case, we would have to stand guard by them overnight and reload them come morning.
We returned the garrons to Ulf, their keeper. I thanked Derek for his time and took my leave of him, promising to join him that night for dinner. I then set out to find Connor immediately, making my way directly through the still- bustling marketplace, and thence through the fort to the gate leading onto the wharf.
Connor was in conference with the two captains of his other galleys when I arrived, the tiny Feargus, who was not much taller than the boy Arthur, and his incongruous companion Logan, a giant as grotesquely tall as Feargus was small. Feargus's galley, with the reddish sail that distinguished it even when furled, lay prow to stern with Connor's, filling the length of the wharf. Logan's had been lashed alongside it, so that his crew must cross Feargus's deck to reach the land. All three men turned at my approach, alerted by Logan, who had seen me emerging from the town gate, and when we had exchanged greetings the two captains left me alone with Connor. I came to the point at once, telling him all that had transpired between me and Derek. He took the information philosophically, even smiling in admiration of Derek's acuity, and when I had fallen quiet again he grinned and slapped me on the upper arm.