I explained about Nimue and remembered to thank Guinevere for her efforts to save my friend from Sansum's revenge.
"Poor Nimue," Guinevere said. "But she is a fierce creature, isn't she? I liked her, but I don't think she liked us. We are all too frivolous! And I could not interest her in Isis. Isis, she'd tell me, is a foreign Goddess, and then she would spit like a little cat and mutter a prayer to Manawydan."
Arthur showed no reaction to the mention of Isis and I supposed he had lost his fears of the strange Goddess. "I wish I knew Nimue better," he said instead.
"You will," I said, 'when Merlin brings her back from the dead."
"If he can," Arthur said dubiously. "No one ever has come back from the Isle."
"Nimue will," I insisted.
"She is extraordinary," Guinevere said, 'and if anyone can survive the Isle, she can."
"With Merlin's help," I added.
Only at the meal's end did our talk turn to Ynys Trebes, and even then Arthur was careful not to mention the name Lancelot. Instead he regretted that he had no gift with which he could reward me for my efforts.
"Being home is reward enough, Lord Prince," I said, remembering to use the title Guinevere preferred.
"I can at least call you Lord," Arthur said, 'and so you will be called from now on, Lord Derfel."
I laughed, not because I was ungrateful, but because the reward of a warlord's title seemed too grand for my attainments. I was also proud: a man was called lord for being a king, a prince, a chief or because his sword had made him famous. I superstitiously touched Hywelbane's hilt so that my luck would not be soured by the pride.
Guinevere laughed at me, not out of spite, but with delight at my pleasure, and Arthur, who loved nothing more than seeing others happy, was pleased for both of us. He was happy himself that day, but Arthur's happiness was always quieter than other men's joy. At that time, when he first came back to Britain, I never saw him drunk, never saw him boisterous and never saw him lose his self-possession except on a battlefield. He had a stillness about him that some men found disconcerting for they feared he read their souls, but I think that calm came from his desire to be different. He wanted admiration and he loved rewarding the admiration with generosity.
The noise of the waiting petitioners grew louder and Arthur sighed as he thought of the work awaiting him. He pushed away his wine and gave me an apologetic glance. "You deserve to rest, Lord," he said, deliberately flattering me with my new title, 'but alas, very soon I shall ask you to take your spears north."
"My spears are yours, Lord Prince," I said dutifully.
He traced a circle on the marble table top with his finger. "We are surrounded by enemies," he said, 'but the real danger is Powys. Gorfyddyd collects an army like Britain has never seen. That army will come south very soon and King Tewdric, I fear, has no stomach for the fight. I need to put as many spears as I can into Gwent to hold Tewdric's loyalty staunch. Cei can hold Cadwy, Melwas will have to do his best against Cerdic, and the rest of us will go to Gwent."
"What of Aelle?" Guinevere asked meaningfully.
"He is at peace," Arthur insisted.
"He obeys the highest price," Guinevere said, 'and Gorfyddyd will be raising the price very soon."
Arthur shrugged. "I cannot face both Gorfyddyd and Aelle," he said softly. "It will take three hundred spears to hold Aelle's Saxons, not defeat them, mark you, just hold them. The lack of those three hundred spears will mean defeat in Gwent."
"Which Gorfyddyd knows," Guinevere pointed out.
"So what, my love, would you have me do?" Arthur asked her.
But Guinevere had no better answer than Arthur, and his answer was merely to hope and pray that the fragile peace held with Aelle. The Saxon King had been bought with a cartload of gold and no further price could be paid for there was no gold left in the kingdom. "We just have to hope Gereint can hold him," Arthur said, 'while we destroy Gorfyddyd." He pushed his couch back from the table and smiled at me. "Rest till after Lughnasa, Lord Derfel," he told me, 'then as soon as the harvest's gathered you can march north with me."
He clapped his hands to summon servants to clear away the remains of the meal and to let in the waiting petitioners. Guinevere beckoned me as the servants hurried about their work. "Can we talk?" she asked.
"Gladly, Lady."
She took off the heavy necklace, handed it to a slave, then led me up a flight of stone steps that ended at a door opening into an orchard where two of her big deer hounds waited to greet her. Wasps buzzed around windfalls and Guinevere demanded that slaves clear the rotting fruit away so we could walk unmolested. She fed the hounds scraps of chicken left from the midday meal while a dozen slaves scooped the sodden, bruised fruit into the skirts of their robes, then scuttled away, well stung, to leave the two of us alone. Wicker frames of booths that would be decorated with flowers for the great feast of Lughnasa had been erected all around the orchard wall. "It looks pretty' Guinevere spoke of the orchard' but I wish I was in Lindinis."
"Next year, Lady," I said.
"It'll be in ruins," she said tartly. "Hadn't you heard? Gundleus raided Lindinis. He didn't capture Caer Cadarn, but he did pull down my new palace. That was a year ago." She grimaced. "I hope Ceinwyn makes him utterly miserable, but I doubt she will. She's an insipid little thing." The leaf-filtered sun lit her red hair and cast strong shadows on her good face. "I sometimes wish I was a man," she said, surprising me.
"You do?"
"Do you know how hateful it is to wait for news?" she asked passionately. "In two or three weeks you'll all go north and then we must just wait. Wait and wait. Wait to hear if Aelle breaks his word, wait to hear how huge Gorfyddyd's army really is." She paused. "Why is Gorfyddyd waiting? Why doesn't he attack now?"
"His levies are working on the harvest," I said. "Everything stops for harvest. His men will want to make sure of their harvest before they come to take ours."
"Can we stop them?" she asked me abruptly.
"In war, Lady," I said, 'it is not always a question of what we can do, but what we must do. We must stop them." Or die, I thought grimly.
She walked in silence for a few pacec, thrusting the excited dogs away from her feet. "Do you know what people are saying about Arthur?" she asked after a while.
I nodded. "That it would be better if he fled to Broceliande and yielded the kingdom to Gorfyddyd. They say the war is lost."
She looked at me, overwhelming me with her huge eyes. At that moment, so close to her, alone with her in the warm garden and engulfed by her subtle scent, I understood why Arthur had risked a kingdom's peace for this woman. "But you will fight for Arthur?" she asked me.
"To the end, Lady," I said. "And for you," I added awkwardly.
She smiled. "Thank you." We turned a corner, walking towards the small spring that sprang from a rock in the corner of the Roman wall. The trickle of water irrigated the orchard and someone had tucked votive ribbons into niches of the mossy rock. Guinevere lifted the golden hem of her apple-green dress as she stepped over the rivulet. "There's a Mordred party in the kingdom," she told me, repeating what Bishop Bedwin had spoken of on the night of my return. "They're Christians, mostly, and they're all praying for Arthur's defeat. If he was defeated, of course, they'd have to grovel to Gorfyddyd, but grovelling, I've noticed, conics naturally to Christians. If I were a man, Derfel Cadarn, three heads would fall to my sword. Sansum, Nabur and Mordred."
I did not doubt her words. "But if Nabur and Sansum are the best men the Mordred party can muster, Lady," I said, 'then Arthur need not worry about them."
"King Melwas too, I think," Guinevere said, 'and who knows how many others? Almost every wandering priest in the kingdom spreads the pestilence, asking why men should die for Arthur. I'd strike all their heads off, but traitors don't reveal themselves, Lord Derfel. They wait in the dark and strike when you're not looking. But if Arthur defeats Gorfyddyd they'll all sing his praises and pretend they were his supporters all the while." She spat to avert evil, then gave me a sharp glance. "Tell me about King Lancelot," she said suddenly.
I had an impression that we were at last reaching the real reason for this stroll beneath the apple and pear trees. "I don't really know him," I said evasively.
"He spoke well of you last night," she said.
"He did?" I responded sceptic ally I knew Lancelot and his companions were still resident in Arthur's house, indeed I had been dreading meeting him and relieved that he had not been at the midday meal.
"He said you were a great soldier," Guinevere said.
"It's nice to know," I answered sourly, 'that he can sometimes tell the truth." I assumed that Lancelot, trimming his sails to a new wind, had tried to gain favour with Arthur by praising a man he knew to be Arthur's friend.
"Maybe," Guinevere said, 'warriors who suffer a terrible defeat like the fall of Ynys Trebes always end up squabbling?"
"Suffer?" I said harshly. "I saw him leave Benoic, Lady, but I don't remember him suffering. Any more than I remember seeing that bandage on his hand when he left."
"He's no coward," she insisted warmly. "He wears warrior rings thick on his left hand, Lord Derfel."
"Warrior rings!" I said derisively, and plunged my hand into my belt pouch and brought out a fistful of the things. I had so many now that I no longer bothered to make them. I scattered the rings on the orchard's grass, startling the deer hounds that looked to their mistress for reassurance. "Anyone can find warrior rings, Lady."
Guinevere stared at the fallen rings, then kicked one aside. "I like King Lancelot," she said defiantly, thus warning me against any more disparaging remarks. "And we have to look after him. Arthur feels we failed Benoic and the least we can do is to treat its survivors with honour. I want you to be kind to Lancelot, for my sake."
"Yes, Lady," I said meekly.
"We must find him a rich wife," Guinevere said. "He must have land and men to command. Dumnonia is fortunate, I think, in having him come to our shores. We need good soldiers."
"Indeed we do, Lady," I agreed.
She caught the sarcasm in my voice and grimaced, but despite my hostility she persevered with the real reason she had invited me to this shadowed, private orchard. "King Lancelot," she said, 'wants to be a worshipper of Mithras, and Arthur and I do not want him opposed."
I felt a flare of rage at my religion being taken so lightly. "Mithras, Lady," I said coldly, 'is a religion for the brave."
"Even you, Derfel Cadarn, do not need more enemies," Guinevere replied just as coldly, so I knew she would become my enemy if I blocked Lancelot's desires. And doubtless, I thought, Guinevere would deliver the same message to any other man who might oppose Lancelot's initiation into the Mithraic mysteries.
"Nothing will be done till winter," I said, evading a firm commitment.
"But make sure it is done," she said, then pushed open the hall door. "Thank you, Lord Derfel."
"Thank you, Lady," I said, and felt another surge of anger as I ran down the steps to the hall. Ten days! I thought, just ten days and Lancelot had made Guinevere into his supporter. I cursed, vowing that I would become a miserable Christian before I ever saw Lancelot feasting in a cave beneath a bull's bloody head. I had broken three Saxon shield-walls and buried Hywelbane to her hilt in my country's enemies before I had been elected to Mithras's service, but all Lancelot had ever done was boast and posture.
I entered the hall to find Bed win seated beside Arthur. They were hearing petitioners, but Bedwin left the dais to draw me to a quiet spot beside the hall's outer door. "I hear you're a lord now," he said. "My congratulations."
"A lord without land," I said bitterly, still upset by Guinevere's outrageous demand.
"Land follows victory," Bedwin told me, 'and victory follows battle, and of battle, Lord Derfel, you will have plenty this year." He stopped as the hall door was thrown open and as Lancelot and his followers stalked in. Bedwin bowed to him, while I merely nodded. The King of Benoic seemed surprised to see me, but said nothing as he walked to join Arthur, who ordered a third chair arranged on the dais. "Is Lancelot a member of the council now?" I asked Bedwin angrily.
"He's a King," Bedwin said patiently. "You can't expect him to stand while we sit."
I noticed that the King of Benoic still had a bandage on his right hand. "I trust the King's wound will mean he can't come with us?" I said acidly. I almost confessed to Bedwin how Guinevere had demanded that we elect Lancelot a Mithraist, but decided that news could wait.
"He won't come with us," Bedwin confirmed. "He's to stay here as commander of Durnovaria's garrison."
"As what?" I asked loudly and so angrily that Arthur twisted in his chair to see what the commotion was about.
