In Winter's Shadow (33 page)

“What Bedwyr’s reasons are changes nothing,” Gwalchmai repeated yet again. “Justice requires that he die. Macsen is only incidental to that.” He took a deep breath. “Try the night assault. Since we have the watchword it might work. If not, use the siege engines.”

“I still don’t see why you didn’t kill Bedwyr yourself this morning, since you are so eager for his death,” snapped Cei. “You could have.”

“I tell you, the madness was on me!” Gwalchmai snapped back, trying to stand—then stopped short, went white with pain, and closed his eyes.

Cei jumped up and took his shoulder. “Lie down,” he urged, pushing the other back gently. “God in Heaven, you must keep still.”

“The madness was on me,” Gwalchmai insisted. “It was as though we still fought the Saxons, and he still commanded me. I could not think clearly, or I would have killed him. But it would be best if he died after a trial, by the hand of the law, in Britain, before all the Family.”

Arthur raised his hand, nodding. “We will try the night assault, tonight. Gwynhwyfar, what are their defenses?”

I told him everything I knew, which my hours standing on the walls had made a good amount, though I had to admit that I knew less of what happened in Macsen’s court than the servants did. “I have been kept virtually a prisoner,” I explained, “I was under guard whenever I left Macsen’s house.”

“I know,” Arthur said, “I had a man inside the fortress. He was killed a few weeks ago.” He was quiet a moment, still watching me. It was very different from our last meeting, when the sight of me had been painful to him. I wondered what it was that he felt now. “Cei told me that you claimed to have known nothing about the attack on the road until it took place.”

“I knew nothing of it. But, afterward…I went…I left with Bedwyr willingly, my heart. He was in such desperate grief that I could not abandon him.”

Gwalchmai laughed, then shuddered and closed his eyes again. The laughter must have jolted his wounded head.

“And yet, there was no conspiracy?” Arthur demanded. “You can swear to that?”

“I, Gwynhwyfar daughter of Ogyrfan, swear in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, that I never conspired to escape with Bedwyr, and that I knew nothing of his plans until he encountered us on the road. Moreover, I swear that Bedwyr himself never meant to come to blows with anyone, and only drew his sword after Medraut had prevented me from telling him that I would not go, and incited the others to attack him. If I lie may the earth gape and swallow me, may the sea rise and drown me, may the sky break and fall on me.”

Arthur smiled very slightly and looked at Gwalchmai.

“Still it alters nothing,” Gwalchmai said wearily. “We had heard that the lady was kept as a prisoner. We knew all along that she had the lesser share of guilt. But there has still been murder, Macsen still stands firm in rebellion, and there must still be justice for it.”

“You will have me tried again,” I told Arthur. “I know that. And I am willing to accept my sentence. It is what I came for.” His eyes met mine, still without anger. The silence and the torchlight lay between us like a road, and I felt my blood begin to sing in my veins: he was not angry, he had forgiven me. “I am grieved to the heart over what has happened,” I went on, uncertainly now, all my determination melting in the light of his eyes. “I have deserved to die. And I would rather die than help to cause this division among us for even one more day. I cannot live with it…”

Arthur began to speak, but fell silent again. He looked at Gwalchmai, then back at me. “The war will still go on, my white hart,” he told me, very quietly. “But I am glad that you are no longer part of it; I am glad you are back. And if you were stolen away by force, and kept a prisoner, there may be no need for a new sentence. Perhaps the old one could be altered, even suspended.” He was quiet another moment, then said, “I received a letter from your cousin, the chieftain of your clan. If Bedwyr knew of him I am not surprised that he wished to rescue you. I do not think it would be well that you go there.” He glared around the room, suddenly, coldly angry, not so much with anyone there as with his kingdom and the purple. “I do not wish her to die!” he cried, loudly. “Let Bedwyr pay the penalty!”

Gwalchmai looked at me strangely but said nothing. Cei grinned. “Why, she has paid her penalty already! She has been kept prisoner by a foreign king. Ach, my lord, my lady, it was a bold deed, escaping from Macsen’s fortress dressed as a man; the warband will pardon her anything, after that. There will be songs made about it for years.”

I did not know what to say. I had not expected such a welcome. I was being received as though I had returned from an embassy, and not like an escaped criminal. But I was a criminal, and did not want Bedwyr to pay the penalty for my crime as well as his own. Yet my husband stood near me watching me, and I did not know what to say to him.

Arthur saw my confusion and shook his head. “We must speak of it tomorrow. For now, my lady, rest. You look very tired.” He went to the entrance of his tent and gave orders for some servants to prepare me a tent to myself, then called various men and gave orders for the assault for that night. I leaned back in my place, looking at the familiar things and faces. I closed my eyes and listened to their voices: Cei’s rumbling whisper to Gwalchmai; Arthur’s strong voice giving orders outside; jokes, laughter, excited discussion from the men. It did not yet seem real. For a moment I was afraid that I would wake, and find myself back in that smothering red room in Car Aës. I opened my eyes again quickly.

Arthur came back in, went to his desk, and checked a plan he had made of Macsen’s defenses. Then he looked up at me again and smiled. I thought my heart would break to see him smile. He looked older even than before, worn into a graying shadow, but his smile was the same, and the direct honest force of his eyes. “I cannot believe that you are here,” he told me. “I wish—but you must rest, and there is work for me. Do you have any other clothing? Then I will have some found for you—though I doubt we have anything finer than some farm woman’s festival dress in this whole encampment.” He helped me to my feet, ushered me to the entrance of the tent, and snapped his fingers to summon a guard for me, then paused, still holding my arm. “Wish me luck for tonight, my lady.”

I turned and caught his arms, looked up into his face. I thought of Bedwyr in the dark stable, and of Arthur decreeing my sentence at Camlann, things that had mattered, that still mattered. But beside this return they were unimportant; looking at him, I was home again. “God defend you,” I said. “And good luck.”

As I walked off to my own tent, escorted by a warrior I knew, I prayed that I would die there, among friends and not in humiliation among strangers. And I prayed also that Bedwyr would not be captured that night, not brought back and made to pay the penalty which I should have paid, but that somehow, somewhere, living or dying, he should escape.

The tent Arthur had ordered for me was a small one, but three men had been moved out of it to make room for me. It had a fire, and when I entered with my guard, Gwalchmai’s servant, Rhys, was heating water over this. When he saw me his face almost split with an enormous grin, and he bowed very low. “Lady Gwynhwyfar! Welcome back. The news of your escape has swept the camp already.”

I took his hand, smiling back. “Thank you, Rhys. I am glad to see you. How are Eivlin and the children?”

“When I left them, well. I am glad you have come back, my lady. It is a dead weight on the heart to make war against friends. Will the Lord Bedwyr come?”

I stopped smiling and shook my head.

Rhys sighed. “Well.” He ran a hand through his hair. “It will go on, then. God have mercy on us.” The guard muttered something and withdrew to stand watch outside, and Rhys bowed to him slightly, then checked the wood for the fire. “Well, noble lady, you must wish to rest, and I must go back to my lord. He is wounded.”

“I know. He is at Arthur’s tent, planning an assault.”

“What? Still?” Rhys stared. “God in Heaven! He had to be carried there—can’t walk, insisted on speaking to Arthur as soon as he realized where he was after the wounding. The surgeons didn’t like that, only they liked the thought of exciting him even less. He only woke this afternoon, and he has obviously not yet recovered his senses. The stubborn, proud…” Rhys realized that this was an improper way to speak of his lord, so, instead of finishing, lifted the kettle of hot water from the fire and checked the bucket of cold water.

I sat down on the sleeping pallet and pulled off those absurd boots. “Your lord is very bitter,” I said, tentatively. Rhys knew Gwalchmai as well as anyone did, and would know how things stood with him.

“And is it surprising that he should be? Why did Bedwyr kill that poor child? Excuse me, my lady. My tongue is more insolent than my intentions.”

“Do not apologize. You have been a part of this long enough to have a right to ask such questions. Bedwyr threw a spear without thinking of whom he threw it at.”

“Ah. Almost, my lady, I could believe we were all under a curse. I could not believe that Bedwyr meant to kill my lord Gwyn, any more than the emperor wants this war, or you ever meant any evil to the emperor, and yet all goes wrong. My lady, my lord has been like a man in an enchantment, noticing nothing and caring for nothing. I can scarcely persuade him to eat or sleep, and he does not pay much attention even to his horse, and you know how he loves that animal. This war is bad for him. He has been worse since we arrived in this miserable kingdom. My lady, he does not really wish to kill Lord Bedwyr, but he cannot bear to think that Bedwyr can murder his son and escape unscathed. Well enough, but when today he met Bedwyr in the battle, he found for himself that he does not wish to kill him, and was almost killed himself. It is bad, that head wound. He cannot fight now, at least. God knows, he cannot even stand. The surgeons say that he must keep very quiet and avoid all excitement. But that is the one thing he will not possibly do, not while he is here and the war continues. My lady, the emperor is sending some of the wounded home the day after tomorrow. Persuade him to send my lord with them.”

I looked at Rhys thoughtfully. “I will tell Arthur what you say when I see him tomorrow. But why do you think I have any influence? I am a criminal awaiting my sentence.”

Rhys grinned again. “Perhaps, my lady. But ever since we arrived in Less Britain, the rumor has run about that you were held a prisoner, and had been taken to Less Britain by force in the first place, and the Family has been burning to set you free again. It is strange what a war will do toward changing men’s minds. They have almost forgotten the trial in all the excitement.” He coughed. “Of course, things may be different in Britain. Medraut and his faction are all back there.”

“What?” I looked at Rhys sharply, saw that he was serious. “Medraut and his faction, left back in Britain to keep Camlann safe for us, while Arthur and all our firmest allies are here? This is madness!”

“My lady, the Emperor could scarcely bring men whose loyalty he doubted here to Less Britain with him, not when he is taking such a small force. Any treachery here and Macsen would destroy us at once. But the emperor is no fool, my lady. He has not taken all our firmest allies, only parts of their warbands. He has left Constantius of Dumnonia in Camlann to keep the fortress warm for him, and no doubt has told the king to keep a close eye on the lord Medraut. And he has left King Urien of Rheged, and Ergyriad of Ebrauc, prepared to warn him of any rebellion in the North. I would not trouble yourself, my lady.”

Rhys was probably right, though I still did not like the sound of it. I might have questioned him further, but another servant came in just then, carrying a plain dress and some blankets. I thanked him, thanked Rhys, and they both smiled, wished me a good night, and left me alone with the guard keeping watch outside.

I could not sleep. I lay awake, listening to the camp preparing its assault on Macsen’s stronghold. I prayed for Arthur, for Bedwyr, lay tossing and turning after the last voices had vanished with the jingle of harness into the night. What would they achieve? Success? It would be good to have the nightmare over, but if Bedwyr were captured, brought back in chains, tried not only for his own crimes but for mine—then the nightmare would only have begun. It is hard, being a woman during a war, and worse when one does not even know what to hope for.

I rose, put on the dress, wrapped the blanket around my shoulders, and went out to talk to my guard. He had a leg wound, I had noticed earlier. Arthur would not set a skilled able-bodied man on an unnecessary guard duty. But the form of the thing was necessary, and I suppose it gave the warrior something to do. I knew the man from Camlann, and knew that he would be even more impatient than I at waiting for the outcome of an assault he could play no part in. We sat about and discussed the war, my imprisonment, his leg wound, Britain, and the Empire until the dawn was gray over the forest at our backs.

The army returned very worn and tired, but in one group. The assault had failed. At first, we learned, the watchword and a diversionary attack had enabled them to take the gates, but afterward the men had been trapped in the unfamiliar streets and forced to retreat again. Arthur was safe, we were told; Cei, Goronwy, Gereint, yes, safe; others, safe; one or two dead, wounded. And Bedwyr, I was told, had commanded the defense, had not been fooled by the diversion at the north wall, but come straight to the gates and managed to foil Arthur’s plans. Yes, Bedwyr too was still alive and unharmed.

Only after learning this did the sleep I had thrust aside suddenly present itself to me again, and I went back into the tent and was lost in oblivion as the sun rose over the treetops.

***

It was full light when I woke. I was still tired, and realized at once that I had woken because someone was watching me. I sat up and saw Arthur.

“Hush,” he said gently. “It is only midmorning. The guard told me that you were awake all night, and you must wish to sleep more.”

“So must you,” I pointed out, “and I would wager that you have not slept at all. How long have you been here, my lord?”

“Not long. Come, if you will not sleep, have breakfast with me.”

We had breakfast in his tent, and it was like old times at Camlann, with people interrupting every five minutes. Arthur told me of the war, and I told him of the preceding months, and of Bedwyr.

When I told him of Bedwyr’s suffering, Arthur nodded. “I saw Bedwyr last night,” he told me.

“In Car Aës?” I asked, my throat constricting.

He nodded. “He spared my life when he might have taken it. But that did not surprise me.” Someone came in with a question about horse fodder, and Arthur dealt with it, then resumed. “We were trapped in a side street, I and some others of the Family. I had miscalculated the width of the streets—or rather, I had not realized that horses would be so difficult to manage in such streets. We are too unaccustomed to siege warfare to be good at it. An organized body of spearmen has the advantage over cavalry in such a confined space, no matter how fine the cavalry. Bedwyr had troops near the gate, and when he appeared himself with additional troops we were forced to retreat. Only I led my men down a street which had no access to the gate, and the spearmen came after us. It was total chaos. We had set fire to the gate house, and the fire was spreading widely; the horses were frightened, and there was no making oneself heard above the din. Then I saw Bedwyr over the heads of the other spearmen, and he saw me. He ordered his men back, and we advanced down the street and rejoined the others at the gate. We passed by him, very close, as we went to join the others. At one point I was not more than six paces from him. He is suffering.”

I looked at my hands, clenching them at each other.

“He will tell Macsen, of course, that it would have been foolish to kill me, that my men would have become ungovernable, ruthless, and cruel were I killed, and so excuse himself for the orders he gave. It is doubtless true. Macsen owed much to Bedwyr. I have owed him much as well.”

“But you will have him put to death.”

He looked at me closely. “You still love him.”

“Yes, of course. So do you.”

He shrugged, looking away from me, looking into nothing. “He has been my friend for many years. He has been the half of my own soul. But I would cut off my own right hand, if it were necessary for the Empire, and it is necessary. Gwalchmai is right: Bedwyr must die as a matter of pure justice. Justice, and the continuance of the Empire. Only…”

“Only?”

He reached across the table and caught my wrist. “Only I do not want that justice to extend to you.” After a moment of silence he went on, “I expected to miss you. But it has been worse than I expected. And it is not because the fortress and the kingdom are almost ungovernable without you, because the affairs of the Empire are in disorder and the servants and farmers sigh whenever you are mentioned. I miss you. I could scarcely bear our house at Camlann, alone; I kept expecting to find you there, forgetting every morning that you were gone and discovering it again, to my sorrow. Shall I speak more plainly? Before the trial Bedwyr told me that I had demanded more from you than anyone can give. It was true, though I would not admit it at the time. I allowed myself to be weak, to lose my temper and make endless demands on you, but never allowed you the same. No, listen to me. I know well enough that the strongest need rest, at times. I have seen it in war: one can push any man so far, farther than he himself thinks he can be pushed, but in the end he will snap and kill a comrade or flee from the enemy, or forsake a trust. I should have realized what I was doing to you. Then I sat in judgment upon you. I myself have committed adultery, without the spur of love or loneliness, but only that of drunkenness and lust for the Queen Morgawse—how could I pass judgment on Bedwyr for loving you, or you for yielding to him? You would never have been unfaithful had it not been for me.”

“My own heart,” I said, “you blame yourself overmuch. You committed no crime, and I did. And yet I love you, I loved you even when I was unfaithful. If you forgive me that is all I desire, and perhaps more than I deserve.”

He kissed my hand. “It requires forgiveness on both sides, I think. My white hart, the people might accept you back now, as Empress, if it were proved at another trial that you had been taken from Britain by force and kept as a prisoner.”

“It is not true.”

“So you said. But Bedwyr must die. You see that, don’t you? There is no way of avoiding it. Must you die as well? It would do no good, not to the kingdom, the Family, and least of all to me. We would all suffer for it. My heart, tell them that you were taken from Britain by force.”

“On trial? Under oath?”

“It is almost true. You would have prevented Bedwyr’s attack if you had known of it, and you never meant to go with him.”

“But it would not do any good to spare me, either. The people will spit on me, and say that I am a whore who ran off with her lover, caused a war, and was reinstated to the purple by a deceived and doting husband. They will say you are weak and corrupt. Medraut will use it.”

He winced. “We can bear that. But do not use such terms. Your cousin spoke so of you in his letter to me; he said that he accepted the charge of you and would see that you were fittingly punished. Why didn’t you tell me of him? I would never have sent you to his house had I known. But I do not see fit to yield to the opinions of such as he, nor to suit all my actions to Medraut’s judgment. I need you. Will you…not so much lie, as distort the truth, when you are retried? Then I could impose nothing more than the penance which the Church proscribes for adultery, and keep you with me.”

“You…you risk much.”

“You do not understand. I need you.”

I had gone with Bedwyr against my better judgment because he needed me. Now, although Arthur was calmer than Bedwyr had been, I could tell that he was no less serious. But if I were dead he might find another wife, one that might bear him children, and be a better lady for him than I had been. To lie under oath and make another bear the punishment for my fault seemed to me monstrous…though I knew that if Bedwyr had been there he would have advised me as Arthur did.

“Let me think,” I pleaded. “I was certain that I would die for my treachery if I came back. I never expected to be forgiven, I thought I would die honestly. Let me get used to the idea of living first.” After a moment in turmoil I asked, “When would you hold this trial?”