And now Owain of the Caves, who had been in Cambria when Ironhair was fighting there to install Carthac as the region's king, and who had been in Camulod at the time of the invidious attempt on Arthur's life, was asking questions of our whereabouts and calling me an old and valued friend. I knew that I was probably inferring too much from what Ambrose had written, but the fact remained that someone in Camulod was steeped in treachery and in the pay of Ironhair. Owain had mentioned nothing of the boy. Nor had he need to. In finding me, he would have found Arthur. And now, with Ambrose's acknowledgment that our presence here in Ravenglass was no secret today in Camulod, I was forced to accept the inevitable corollary: the traitor might or might not be Owain of the Caves, but if the betrayer was still in Camulod, and I must assume he or she was, then the boy was no longer absolutely safe here, and there was nothing I could do to change that, short of fleeing again, this time to the Caledonian Isles.
Unsure of precisely how to proceed, since my suspicions were purely personal and very probably unfounded, I yet sat down and wrote to Ambrose at length, telling him of my reactions to his letter and asking him to keep an eye and an ear open and attentive to Owain of the Caves from that time on, taking note of how inquisitive he might appear to be about me. When I had written it, I read it over and again, then sealed it and dispatched it back to Camulod with the returning troops whose tour here in the north-west was over.
That done, I led the newly arrived officers to Ravenglass within the week and presented than to Derek, inviting him to visit the fort, where we would introduce him formally to the new garrison. He welcomed our three friends and their junior officers magnificently, mounting a banquet in their honour the night we arrived and arranging for them to tour the entire area around the town—inspecting it from a military, defensive perspective—the following morning.
On returning from the tour, while the others were sampling the best brews of the town's hostelries, I took Derek aside and told him about Ambrose's letter, my suspicions about Owain and my consequent fears for Arthur's safety here in Ravenglass and for the security of Camulod itself. He made no attempt to make light of my concerns; he listened gravely to all I had to say and then attempted to put my mind at ease.
There had been few strangers in Ravenglass for several years, he pointed out, since the death of Liam Condranson and the expulsion of his followers. Most of the traffic passing through the port nowadays was local, made up mainly of fishermen, with the only heavy ships and galleys being those of our Eirish friends and other peaceful clans trading from further north along the coast. Barely one visitor in any score was a stranger nowadays, and he promised to make sure from this day on that every unknown person coming through was watched by his people at all times.
Greatly reassured by his level-headed reaction to my worries, I thanked him and sat back, aware that he was staring at me and plainly had more to say.
"What?" I asked him. "You have a question? Spit it out."
"When will you be leaving?"
"What?" His question was simple and straightforward, but it surprised me so much that its immediate meaning was beyond me.
"When will you be leaving, you and your people? Don't tell me you haven't been thinking about it. You've been here now for more than six years. That's how long you said you'd stay, when first you came: five or six years, until the boy was grown. He's grown."
"I haven't been thinking about it. And the boy's not grown—not quite."
"Horseshit. For all intents and purposes your boy's a man. He's almost fifteen. If he hasn't started tupping the wenches already, it's only because Shelagh keeps him on a tight leash and an early curfew. But curfews are for evading and leashes were made to be slipped. Short of iron bars across the doors and windows, nothing's going to keep the boy inside at night if he wants to be outside, baying at the moon. Personally, I'd wager he's had more than a few of my young women spread-eagled ere now. God knows there's few around here that would fight him off. He's too good-looking by half."
I simply sat and stared at him, hearing the truth in his words. Arthur, I knew, was almost through his transition from boyhood to manhood, but I had never really thought of him until now as being sexually awakened. As soon as Derek spoke the words I saw the extent of my own blindness, and I asked myself how I could think of myself as being attuned to Arthur's needs and yet remain completely unaware of this. Tress, I knew, must be aware of it, but she had said nothing of it to me. I resolved to ask her about it that very night, then made shift to empty my mind of that and to focus my thoughts upon Derek's surprising question.
"Where do you think we would go, if we were to leaver'
"Go?" His eyes widened in mock surprise. "Well, let's think about that ... Camulod? Would that be a good starting point? Or Cornwall? Or Cambria, perhaps?"
Ignoring the heavy sarcasm, I shook my head.
"Derek, you may not believe it, but it's been years since I've thought about leaving here."
"Then you should be ashamed. You're spending too much time with your head between Tressa's legs, my friend—your thoughts are focused on the wrong end of things. Boudicca's buttocks, man! You've spoken of your mighty destiny so much to me that even I believe in it now—I, Derek of Ravenglass! And now you tell me you've abandoned and forgotten it? Is that supposed to make me feel happy?"
I waved my hands to cut him short. "No, no, no. That's not what I meant at all, Derek. I haven't forgotten any of—"
"Then what's wrong with you? You brought the lad up here to save his life and to train him. He's trained, Merlyn, and he's full-grown. Now he needs to be refined. He'll grow bigger and he'll grow older, but if he does either here, in Ravenglass, then the world will be passing him by. He needs to go out there now, into the world, and learn how it functions. He has nothing more to learn here, I swear to you, other than the arts of spreading female legs, and he can do that anywhere. Now he needs to travel, to see other regions, to meet other men and form his own judgments by which he'll stand or fall. He needs to meet strangers and fight with them or turn them into friends and even followers. You've talked long in the past of how he will rule Camulod, one day. That day is nigh, my friend. Time to go meet it."
I drew a deep breath and thought about the rightness of what he had said. I felt ashamed of myself. I had never lost sight of what he described, but what I had lost sight of— willfully—was the closeness of the departure point for the next stage of our venture. Now I saw that I had grown too comfortable here in Derek's north-west haven, had grown too soft, mentally, in my tranquil life with Tress. I rose to my feet and gulped down the remaining wine I had been savouring.
"You're right, my friend," I said. "I've lingered here too long and the world is unfolding elsewhere. There's a monster in Cornwall who needs to be put down, and his master's as mad a dog as he is. Arthur needs to ride to war."
Derek looked intently at me. "Who's the monster in Cornwall?"
I told him briefly about Carthac and Ironhair, and when I had finished he sat up straight.
"It's going to be quiet around here, once you people leave."
"Aye, it will be, I suppose. But what about the garrison? Will their absence henceforth cause problems for you?"
"How should it? This town's almost impregnable. It stood intact for hundreds of years before your garrison arrived, and it'll continue to do so long after they are gone."