Clash of Kings (57 page)

Rowena was very pale and her skin was clammy. When Myrddion gently laid his hand upon her forehead, she opened her eyes wearily. Her extraordinary blue eyes were blurred and her skin was folded with pain.

‘What is amiss, my queen? Tell me of your ailment.’

Myrddion had learned to speak quietly and confidently to patients to counteract the impact of his clean-shaven youth. He had also learned to smile, not only with his pale, well-shaped lips but also with his alien, brilliant eyes.

‘I know you,’ Rowena whispered. ‘My husband thought to sacrifice you. Oh, Freya, do you hate me too? I tried to pay the blood price. I gave Hengist the best cloth I owned to use as a shroud that would wrap your kinswoman during her journey to the shadows. I prayed and prayed to Freya that no stain would defile my sons. If I have to die, I don’t care, but my sons shouldn’t be punished for my sins. There’s been too much blood spilt and, may the gods help me, I have killed as well, so my soul is tainted also. But I swear – I swear – that I was left with no choice at Glevum. Too many innocent people would have perished if I’d done nothing. I swear I wasn’t thinking only of myself.’

She shivered, as if she was freezing under the heavy blankets on her narrow bed. Myrddion watched as an old horror rose in her eyes like a pike out of deep water.

‘Glevum was so warm! So warm! But it’s cold here.’

‘Hush, my queen. I don’t hate you. Indeed, I was grateful for the regal gift you gave to my dear grandmother. Nor would she ever have demanded payment in blood for her death. And certainly not from you! I was at Glevum, madam, so you need say nothing more, for the innocent foot soldiers and citizens you saved in that town owe you a debt for raising the siege. The least said, the greater the peace. I can tell that you have a fever, but I must know what other symptoms you have if I am to return you to good health.’

‘Thank you,’ Rowena whispered and gripped her son’s hand. Her eyes were sunk into the fine bones of her skull and her mouth was cracked and dry. Myrddion saw a flagon of water on a nearby table and went to pour some for her.

‘No. No. I cannot drink, for everything here tastes strange. I’ll not touch it.’ The queen turned her face into the pillow and sobbed out her distress.

‘Look at me, my lady,’ Myrddion ordered compellingly. ‘I won’t give you any water from this room. I have my own water bottle here with me, so I will drink from it first, if you will then take some of mine for yourself. See?’

Myrddion drank from his wooden bottle, and then filled a beaker and handed it to the queen.

She was so weak that the goblet shook in her hand, but Katigern, her youngest, cupped his strong, golden fingers around hers to steady them. Myrddion held her while she eagerly gulped down the water.

‘From now on, your sons will collect water directly from the well, just for you. They will drink the water first so you can be sure that it is pure.’

The queen nodded mutely, as did her sons, while Vortigern drew his brows together at the obvious implication of the healer’s words.

‘You must tell me your symptoms now, my lady. Don’t be embarrassed. There’s very little about the human body that I have yet to see, so I promise not to be shocked.’

Myrddion smiled engagingly, and Rowena responded, albeit tremulously.

‘I can keep nothing in my stomach. The very smell of food sickens me. I’m afraid that I have . . . soiled myself as well, and I have felt such pain in my stomach, my legs and my joints that I can barely stir. Nothing helps. If anything, I grow worse and worse.’

The queen’s eyes welled with tears as she revealed her embarrassment and shame, but Myrddion took her hand and ran his sensitive fingers over it. He felt the deep ridges in the almond-shaped nails and his brows twitched with concern and suspicion.

‘I think I understand what I am dealing with, my lady, and I hope to return you to health. But I must depend on your sons and my lord to care for you – and on them only. No servant may give you anything to eat or drink, no matter how trusted they might be.’

‘Speak freely, healer, and don’t try to spare our feelings,’ Vortigern demanded roughly. ‘What is amiss with my queen?’

With a sigh, Myrddion acknowledged that he must tell the plain, unvarnished truth if Vortigern and his sons were to take his orders seriously.

‘The queen has been poisoned – and for some time, sufficient for the toxin to be present in her fingernails. The body stores some poisons within the nails, body-fat and hair, so, while I can detect the presence of the toxins, I cannot tell how much damage has been done to my lady’s health. But strict precautions must be taken, starting immediately. No food must come into this room that has not been prepared by persons you absolutely trust. If necessary, the boys must learn to cook.’ He turned his head slightly to address Vengis and Katigern directly. ‘No salt, no dressing, no fruit, no fluid of any kind can be trusted, unless innocent and loving hands have prepared it. No meat must be eaten for some time. Eggs can be boiled and mashed, as their shells cannot easily be breached. Better that food be tasteless than dangerous. Any milk you use should be taken from the cow yourself, and should be stored in a clean container. Then, and only then, may it be given to your mother.’ He looked around at the shocked faces in the small room. ‘Someone has the hidden desire that the queen should die in agony.’

Rowena began to weep in earnest at the thought that some nameless person would wish her such harm.

At this inauspicious moment, the serving woman returned with a bowl of thin gruel and a foaming glass of milk. Vortigern would have dashed the whole tray to the ground, but Myrddion stopped him with a peremptory gesture.

‘May I speak to you outside this room, my lord?’ As the king nodded in agreement, the healer turned to Rowena’s sons. ‘Boys, keep the tray safe. Let no one touch it in my absence.’ He turned his attention to the serving woman who showed the whites of her eyes in fear. ‘You, woman, will wait in the kitchens till I come to you.’

The servant blanched, but quickly excused herself and slipped out of the room, while Katigern took the tray and placed it gingerly on his stool as if it contained live serpents.

Once outside the confines of the room, Vortigern turned toward his healer with a thunderous face.

‘Who has done this thing, Myrddion? Who would
dare
? This is
my
fortress, so the guilty person must be very confident to risk my revenge.’

‘Or very frightened. But I believe that I can discover who the culprit is, if you will allow me to conduct an experiment. Will you remain silent until I discover who the traitor might be?’

‘Of course, healer! I want this traitor caught and killed, but I also need to know who has ordered such a cowardly act to be committed within my house.’

Myrddion grimaced at Vortigern’s immediate assumption that another, more powerful personage was behind Rowena’s illness. ‘You are already guessing, my Lord, that the perpetrator isn’t acting alone in these treasonous deeds. But, for now, we must order every servant and cook involved in the preparation of food within the fortress to gather together in your kitchens. We shall see who’s willing to eat the gruel and drink the milk.’

Vortigern grinned savagely, then strode away to issue the necessary orders. Myrddion returned to the sickroom, collected the tray and issued his final instructions to the queen’s sons.

‘You, Katigern, will go to the warriors’ bivouac and find the healer’s tent. There, you will remain with my servant, Cadoc, and watch while he boils two hen’s eggs for the queen to eat. The eggs must be finely mashed, and you may use a little of my own store of salt to add taste to them. After that, you will observe one of my assistants as he milks a cow. Hear my words, and watch closely. I trust my servants absolutely, but you must take no chances. As for you, Vengis, stay with your mother. Here is my water bottle, for your mother must have clean water to drink. Use the cleanest cup you can find, and you mustn’t leave her for a moment. Trust no one except for your brother, not even me. Do you understand?’

‘Aye!’ the young man answered, determination clearly written in his pale eyes. ‘Everything shall be done as you have instructed.’

‘I killed Vortimer with poison, Myrddion,’ Rowena interrupted. ‘Perhaps I deserve no better than the dreadful fate I gave to him.’

‘I didn’t hear the words you just spoke, my queen. Nor have your sons heard them. I saw the marks on your face and on your body when you returned from your captivity. I saw the women of Glevum, and the children, all of whom live because you caused the death of Vortimer. If the Mother is kind to us, perhaps she will allow you to survive this illness. Whatever happens, my queen, I will do everything I can for you, for I owe you a debt for your kindness to my grandmother.’

Myrddion opened his satchel to find a small piece of oilcloth containing a white powder.

‘Vengis, take this powder and mix it with water. It’s a harmless herbal remedy that will cleanse the blood. I don’t know if the purgative will be powerful enough for our purposes, but it cannot hurt your mother. I will taste it myself, to assure you of its safety. Then, once I’ve ascertained what toxin has been used, I can treat your mother’s illness with more aggression.’

He bent over the queen, although he knew that Vortigern was waiting impatiently.

‘Have courage, my lady. The goddess rules us, regardless of what names we give her. She hasn’t deserted you. Your illness is the cruel result of human vice and I will find a way to ease your pain, if such a remedy exists.’

‘Thank you, Master Myrddion. Whatever happens to me, I have absolved you from all guilt. But do you best for my sons, I beg of you.’

The last sentence was whispered so that only the healer could hear her. Myrddion sighed. Friendless, child of a hated race and completely without power, the queen lay in her simple bed and fretted over the possible fates of her sons. Even Branwyn, in her madness, was more free than the High Queen of the Britons.

As Myrddion left the room, he heard Rowena begin to vomit weakly as her body was racked in a convulsion of pain. He sighed as he saw Vengis place a basin at the ready and support his mother’s twisted torso. She is gravely ill, he thought with regret. Great malice is at work in this place, and I doubt she will survive.

He found the kitchens and with a heavy heart entered the stone structure with its large fireplaces. He was already sickened at what he would be required to do if he was to isolate the culprit.

Vortigern and two warriors stood threateningly near the doorless entrance and faced two cooks, a kitchen boy who cut wood and cleaned the dishes and pots, two kitchen maids and two older house slaves.

‘These servants are the only people who have been near the queen’s food and drink since we returned to Dinas Emrys,’ Vortigern explained. ‘The only servant still to arrive is Willow, my queen’s personal maid, who has been with her since Glevum. She has been collecting feverwort for the queen’s heated flesh.’

Myrddion vaguely remembered Willow as the pretty child with a serious face who had stood behind her mistress at the gates of Glevum.

‘Instruct your servants to wait outside under the close watch of one of your warriors,’ he told the king.

Vortigern bridled slightly at Myrddion’s presumption, but gave the order to his guard. No one spoke until the kitchen was empty except for the High King, the healer and one burly warrior.

An unnatural silence stretched out in the simple room, where only the crackling and spitting of burning wood in the fires broke the stillness. Myrddion placed the tray upon a crude scrubbed table and the eyes of everyone present fixed themselves on the simple earthenware bowl and beaker.

Ten minutes later, Willow joined the servants. A large warrior carrying a basket full of freshly picked herbs accompanied her. Her face initially registered confusion, but it was soon followed by fear.

Myrddion left the kitchens and addressed the assembled servants.

‘You first,’ he told the cook. ‘Come into your kitchen and obey your king.’

When the man had crossed the threshold and the entry had been barred, Myrddion explained the situation, stressing that the queen had been deliberately poisoned.

The cook paled a little.

‘It’s not me! I know I must be the first person suspected, but I will stand by the food I have prepared. My meals are always sound and wholesome when they leave my hands.’

Myrddion silenced him with a glance of his basilisk-black eyes and a swift gesture of command. ‘Then prove your innocence,’ he said. ‘Eat a little gruel and drink a little milk.’

‘Gladly,’ the cook replied. ‘I made the gruel with my own hands and I’ll happily taste it.’ He ate a small portion of the soup and drank a mouthful of the milk.

One by one, and protesting their innocence, each servant entered the room and did the same. No one showed any outward evidence of reluctance when forced to eat the gruel.

Myrddion’s brow furrowed. The murderous culprit had either called his bluff or the meal was safe to eat.

‘Now each person will taste a pinch of salt from the bowl on the table and eat some more.’

Once again, each servant complied, frowning at the taste, but no one seemed alarmed or disturbed by Myrddion’s demands. Myrddion’s thoughts raced. What is the answer? The poison must have been introduced somehow!

He turned his attention to Willow, who was standing to one side of the main group. ‘Where is your feverwort concoction, Willow?’ he demanded. ‘The queen has been using it for some time, I imagine.’

‘It’s in my room, my lord,’ she answered evenly, although her mouth appeared to be a little pinched. ‘I will fetch it, if you wish.’

Myrddion’s quick eyes spotted a tiny, telltale quiver of her pale, well-shaped lips.

‘No. This young warrior will gather all the potions and unguents in your room and bring them here. You will wait with us. Do you sleep with the other servant girls?’

‘Yes, master, I do,’ she replied, showing no obvious sign of concern.

‘Search the room diligently and bring everything,’ Myrddion ordered the warrior, who glanced at Vortigern for confirmation.