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.