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‘
That is unquenched desire that you
smell!’

‘I
cannot cleanse you with this babe so large inside me.’

‘Not
so,’ Arthur muttered, fondling her enlarged breasts. He chuckled as he thought
of his son’s innocent repetition of
Gwenhwyfar’s
words. ‘There are other ways of using a sword aside
from thrusting straight in with the point.’ They
laughed together,
Gwenhwyfar’s arms
coiling around Arthur
as
he kissed her again. She had a passing thought
as he stripped away the last garment of
her clothing and began gently caressing her swollen body; they
ought
to bolt the door. But then, who would be fool enough to
disturb the King and his wife after they had been so long apart?

§ VI

The
lamps in the bed chamber were burning low, several had
gutted out. Gwenhwyfar lay asleep, her head on Arthur’s chest,
her
copper-gold hair, spread in a tangle over her face and his shoulder. She
twitched occasionally as some dream infringed on sleep. Once, she murmured
something.

Arthur was awake, unable to sleep. He moved his arm,
released a
long sigh, puffing his cheeks with expelled air. The victory was his, Icel was
undeniably beaten. But there would always be another Icel somewhere, other
aspiring young men
who would make a try for
something more. At least there would
be
no more fighting in this flat, inhospitably windy part of
Britain, not for a long while.

He watched Gwenhwyfar breathing. Watched the steady rise
and fall of her pregnancy-swollen breasts and the relaxed peace
on her
face. She was one and twenty, and he had loved her —
known her—for the past nine years. With his finger he dabbed at
the
tip of her nose. She twitched, dreamily batted away the irritation with a limp
hand.

‘Gwenhwyfar.
I need to talk.’

‘Mm?
Not now.’ She shifted position. Slept.

‘Gwen.’

‘In
...’ yawn, ‘... the morning.’

‘It
cannot wait till morning, Cymraes.’ Gwenhwyfar groaned, opened her eyes. She
wriggled from
his arms and rolled out of
the bed. ‘You toad. Was it necessary
to wake me?’ Padding across the
semi-darkened room, she squatted over
the
chamber pot. ‘It’s not so much this bulk I have to carry, nor
the
pummelling against my ribs and spine as he stretches and kicks inside that
makes me so loathe pregnancy,’ she shivered and scuttled back to the warmth of
bed, ‘but this damn need to pee so frequently!’

‘Gwenhwyfar?’
She had been settling down to sleep again, opened her eyes
suspicious. ‘I like it not when you say
"Gwenhwyfar" like that.’
Arthur toyed with a strand of her
hair. ‘I have an offer of permanent alliance that I cannot refuse.’ She
regarded him steadily. His fringe, falling away from a
natural side parting, flopped forward over his eye. Gwenhwyfar
brushed
it back, slid her hand around his neck. The slight curl to his hair was the
more noticeable here at the back where the
length,
when he was dressed, rested against his tunic neck-band.

There were the
beginnings of shadowed lines to the cornersof his eyes, light, like a little
bird’s delicate track. His face was thin, the cheek-bones quite prominent aside
his chin and long, straight nose. He looked tired.

In
those dark eyes Gwenhwyfar saw uncertainty and doubt.
Arthur excelled at keeping his thoughts close, his features
passive and unreadable. To Gwenhwyfar alone he
occasionally
dropped the guarded mask; trusting her enough to allow the
show of reality.

He was four and twenty and he carried a weight of worries and
problems that
would have cowed a man twice his age.
‘Have
you slept?’ she asked.

He
shook his head.

Gwenhwyfar hesitated, thinking. She knew she was not going
to
like this offer, whatever it was. She ought to say something
encouraging but this was like picking at the end
of a loose thread.
You knew that to
pull at it would unravel more and more of the
weave, that it ought to be
left alone or sewed secure, but the irresistible urge was there, your fingers
just had to pick at it.

She said
lightly, ‘Who from?’
Arthur pulled a strand of her hair through his fingers,
watched
its subtle change of colour in the feeble light.

‘
An English rival to Icel. He has a flourishing
settlement
along the Humbrenses river.’
He scratched at his nose. ‘He
joined
battle with me, has made offer to secure a lasting
alliance.’
Gwenhwyfar shifted weight from her elbow, lay
down on her
back. ‘This leader of
Saxons, is he a man of importance?’ There,
another few hand-spans of
thread unravelled.

‘English,
these are English people, Gwen.’ Gwenhwyfar shrugged, unimpressed. ‘Saex,
Angli, English, whatever. They are all foreigners and murdering sea-raiders.’

‘
Na, Cymraes,’ Arthur plumped the pillow behind him,
settled his back into it. ‘Not all of them, and aye, Winta is important.
He wants lasting peace between us.’ The thread was unravelling faster, the
weave disappearing before her eyes. Gwenhwyfar ought to leave this
conversation,
go back to sleep, but the
thread slid so easily between her
fingers. ‘What! Peace? Is the
Pendragon turning complaisant
now that he has the royal torque for a while longer,
safe around
his throat?’
Words spoken behind a weight of scorn.

Arthur sat forward hugging his knees, hurting. ‘I have
enough of
that kind of talk from Cei and my uncle Emrys.’

‘
Happen because Cei and Emrys and I have reason to
talk so.’
It was unreasonable for her to say that, but at this early
hour of
the morning and with great need to
sleep, she was not feeling at
all reasonable.

For
answer, he slammed the mattress with his fist, spoke through clenched teeth. ‘Why
is it that people moan and wail and protest when I say we must fight – yet when
I offer a sure
way of avoiding the
fighting, those same people complain 1 am
becoming simple-minded! Can I
not please anyone?’
The weave was completely
unthreaded now. Gwenhwyfar sat
up,
moved a little away from him, her body straight, expression
glaring. ‘You
intend to set Winta as another Saex, client king.’
She spread her hands before her, emphatic and angry. ‘You gave
Hengest
the Cantii territory, and now Icel has his own portion
of land instead of losing his head. Arthur, no more! The
Council
out there,’ she flagged a hand in the direction of the
closed door, ‘your Governors and Elders are plotting to be rid of
you
because you are systematically parcelling out this country
into barbarian rule. You have been King almost
three years, and
now seem determined to give your kingdom away. Our son’s
inheritance? Hah, there’ll be nothing left!’ A
rthur
grasped her waving arms, fingers digging into her flesh. His straight brows
descended into a deep frown. ‘I thought I would
be able to talk to you
about this! Thought you, at least, would
understand
what I am trying to do!’ Disgusted, he threw her from
him and swung his
legs off the bed. He sat a while breathing heavily, the surge of anger thumping
in his chest.

Bringing his fingers over his eyes, and slowly down his
cheeks,
Arthur let his caught breath ease. With his face cupped
between his hands said, ‘I fought to win supreme command and
I intend to .keep it. But I cannot hold these
desolate coastal
lands, Gwenhwyfar. For all my fine, brave Artoriani, I
cannot.
I have not the men or the finance.
Where do I find men
constantly to
patrol the run of rivers and the miles of sea-shore?
where do I, at the same moment, find other men to
fight?
Hengest, Icel, Winta – the
many, many others of their kind – can
call
on ships to cross the sea to come and join them. Keel after keel
of prime, young fighting men. What have I got? A
few Turmae of
loyal men, a handful
of scattered militia who mostly do not know a
pitchfork from a spear blade, and a pig-brained Council who harp
on how it was in the old days of Rome!’ His
shoulders slumped,
head drooped. He
laced his fingers, swivelled the heavy dragon-
shaped ring on his left index finger. ‘Some of these English, men
like Icel, are arrogant bastards who respect no
word outside that of
a war-cry. A
few, a very few, are like Winta, older and wiser men
who can see the
sense in avoiding the spilling of men’s blood – British or English – if the
opportunity is given.’ He brought one leg over the other, rested an elbow on
his
knee, spoke with a mixture of
resignation and anger. ‘Bogs and
quagmires trap my horses. Mud clings,
tires, dispirits even the stoutest heart. I came over close to losing to Icel.’
He looked at
her, held her eyes with his
own. ‘Another few weeks, Cymraes,
and
we would have been finished. I won because Fortuna smiled
on me and Mithras,
the soldiers’ god, took pity. I do not favour courting their combined
benevolence again.’ Was he getting
through
to her? Surely she understood? Surely! ‘Without
amicable agreement,
Winta will fight for what he wants, as did the others. Must I, then, fight him
next? For what? A marsh
running aside a
muddy river that only he wants and that he will
take in the end anyway?’
Gwenhwyfar tossed her head. ‘That is fine, brave war-lord talk!’

‘It’s
sensible talk.’

‘Huh!’
Gwenhwyfar folded her arms, glowering.

‘
It makes sense to make agreement
without bloodshed.’

‘Give in to
him, you mean!’

‘
No!’ Arthur hurled himself from the bed, took a few quick
paces, his fists clenching and unclenching. ‘I
am not giving in! I
am settling the inevitable on my terms. In a year,
two, three, it
could well be on his.’ He
stabbed a finger at her, emphatic.
‘And
that advantage, woman, I do not intend to give him!’
Briefly closing his
eyes, Arthur ran a hand through his hair,
rumpling
it even further. Softer-toned added, ‘By giving Winta
the right to rule
over his people in my name, I get what I want.’ Gwenhwyfar’s answer was still
laced with sarcasm. ‘What is
that? You need
the loyalty of your Council and Governors; you
also need the blessing of
our Christian church. Can some Saex barbarian give you that?’ She was shouting,
kneeling up on the bed, her fists clenched.

Arthur
shouted back at her. ‘I must keep control of my
kingdom! By treating with Winta, I ensure the crossing over the
Abus river and the road up into Eboracum remains
open to me.
With the gold and silver I receive from Winta, I can pay my
men. The cattle, sheep and swine that he will give
to me will feed
my men. For the
privilege of being Lord under me, Winta will give
cloth and weapons to clothe and arm my men! Damn it,’
Arthur’s
nostrils flared, ‘he will even give me the
men,
should I
demand
them!’ He stepped towards Gwenhwyfar,
stood over the bed, his
arms resting to either side of her rigid body.
He dropped the
exclamation from his voice. ‘This
will be the third wolf I invite
near the fold – but the fold has strong
walls and a solid gate.
Fighting cannot be
the only way. I have not yet enough loyal men
behind me to fight for peace between English and British. Fighting
takes
time and men’s lives. Negotiation takes courage and
wisdom.’ He chewed his lip; how to explain further? ‘I am clinging to
this title of king by a thread. I do not have the power of men and
gold
behind to let me snap my fingers in defiance at those who
oppose me. Do you not see?’ He searched her expression,
let her
go, sat on the edge of the
bed with his back to her. ‘Na, you do not.
To keep my kingdom, Cymraes, I am going to have to, one day,
fight
our own British men. I need to know my back will not be exposed to the danger
of the English.’ His shoulders slumped, his chin tucked into his chest. ‘All
right? What do I do then? Tell me.’
As
swiftly as it had risen, Gwenhwyfar’s anger passed. What
he said was
true. They had not the men to justify fighting over
land that few, save peasant folk and Saex, wanted. From
behind,
she slid her arms around him, snuggled as close as her
bulk would permit. He was usually so sure, so firm-footed. Why
the
uncertainty this night? He obviously needed to discuss hisworries; why had she
let him down with her petty bickering?
She
laid her head on his back. A jagged scar, white against pink
skin, snaked from his right shoulder to his spine.
Her eyes
closed. What she really
wanted was to go back to sleep. She
said,
‘I love you. I have more reason than any to wish for peace.’
She let out a slow breath. ‘But Arthur, you could
never settle for
a life without
battle, without a sword in your hand and the
sound of war in your ears.
The Morrigan, the Goddess of War,
holds you
too fast to her breast. It is my fear that I shall lose you
to her one
day.’ He sat silent.