Bernard Cornwell – Warlord 1 – Winter King

“Pray God it is,” Bedwin said, ‘for her sake.”

“What happened to Sansum?” I asked vengefully.

“He wasn’t punished officially,” Bedwin said, ‘but Guinevere persuaded Arthur to strip him of Mordred’s chaplaincy and then the old fellow who administered the shrine of the Holy Thorn at Ynys Wydryn died and I managed to persuade our young Bishop to take over there. He wasn’t happy, but he knew he’d made too many enemies in Durnovaria, so he accepted.” Bedwin was plainly delighted at Sansum’s fall. “He’s certainly lost his power here and I don’t see him getting it back. Not unless he’s a great deal more subtle than I think. He, of course, is one of those who whisper that Arthur should be sacrificed. Nabur is another. There’s a Mordred faction in our kingdom, Derfel, and it asks why we should fight to preserve Arthur’s life.”

I stepped round a puddle of vomit thrown up by a drunken soldier come from the hall. The man groaned, looked up at me, then retched again. “Who else could rule Dumnonia?” I asked Bedwin when we were safely out of the drunk’s hearing.

“There’s a good question, Derfel, who indeed? Gorfyddyd, of course, or else his son Cuneglas. Some men whisper Gereint’s name, but he doesn’t want it. Nabur even suggested I might take over. He said nothing specific, of course, nothing but hints.” Bedwin chuckled derisively. “But what use would I be against our enemies? We need Arthur. No one else could have held off this ring of enemies for so long, Derfel, but folk don’t understand that. They blame him for the chaos, yet if anyone else was in power the chaos would be worse. We’re a kingdom without a proper king so every ambitious rogue has his eye on Mordred’s throne.”

I stopped beside the bronze bust that looked so like Gorfyddyd. “If Arthur had just married Ceinwyn -‘ I began.

Bedwin interrupted me. “If, Derfel, if. If Mordred’s father had lived, or if Arthur had killed Gorfyddyd instead of just taking his arm, everything would be different. History is nothing but ifs. And perhaps you’re right. Perhaps if Arthur had married Ceinwyn we would be at peace now and perhaps Aelle’s head would be planted on a spear-point in Caer Cadarn, but how long do you think

Gorfyddyd would have endured Arthur’s success? And remind yourself why Gorfyddyd agreed to the marriage in the first place.”

“For peace?” I suggested.

“Dear me, no. Gorfyddyd only allowed Ceinwyn to be betrothed because he believed her son, his grandson, would rule Dumnonia instead of Mordred. I should have thought that was obvious.”

“Not to me,” I said, for at Caer Sws, when Arthur had been struck mad by love, I had been a mere spearman in the guard, not a captain who needed to probe the motives of kings and princes.

“We need Arthur,” Bedwin said, looking up into my eyes. “And if Arthur needs Guinevere, then so be it.” He shrugged and walked on. “I would have preferred Ceinwyn as his wife, but the choice and the marriage-bed were not mine to make. Now, poor thing, she’ll marry Gundleus.”

“Gundleus!” I said too loudly, startling the sick soldier who groaned over his vomit. “Ceinwyn will marry Gundleus?” I asked Bedwin.

“Their betrothal ceremony is in two weeks,” Bedwin said calmly, ‘during Lughnasa.” Lughnasa was the summer festival of Lleullaw, God of Light, and was dedicated to fertility, and thus any betrothal made at the feast was considered particularly auspicious. “They’ll marry in late autumn, after the war.” He paused, aware that his last three words suggested that Gorfyddyd and Gundleus would win the war, and that the marriage ceremony would thus be a part of the victor’s celebrations. “Gorfyddyd has sworn to give them Arthur’s head as a wedding gift,” Bedwin added sadly.

“But Gundleus is already married!” I protested, wondering why I was so indignant. Was it because I remembered Ceinwyn’s fragile beauty? I still wore her brooch inside my breastplate, but I told myself my indignation was not because of her, but simply because I hated Gundleus.

“Being married to Ladwys didn’t stop Gundleus marrying Nor-wenna,” Bedwin said scornfully. “He’ll put Ladwys aside, go three times round the sacred rock then kiss the magic toadstool or whatever else you pagans do to get divorced these days. He’s not a Christian any more, by the way. A pagan divorce, marry Ceinwyn, serve her with an heir, then hurry back to Ladwys’s bed. That seems to be the way of things nowadays.” He paused, cocking an ear towards the sounds of laughter coming from the hall. “Though maybe,” he went on, ‘in years to come we shall think of these days as the last of the good times.”