“I’ll exact no such payment, none the likes of your mind,” I answered. “But I will advise you thus: if you wish to play servant, you might learn to speak like one.”
Her face blanched. “I play at nothing! You may live a life of sport, but this is no game for me.” She glanced round the hall and smoothed her dress, but I could see her fingers trembled.
I lowered my voice. “You speak like a noble,” I said. “You have only to open your mouth, and you’ve given yourself away. Where have you come from, then? And why will you not tell me the reason you have left?”
“I cannot say.” She straightened her spine, blue eyes pinning mine. “And if you are a man of any honor, you must swear to tell no one what you suspect.”
I did not like the course of this, but I considered her nonetheless. “Very well. I will tell no one. But in exchange, upon my return, whether you stay with Angharad or wish to return to the kitchens, you will tell me your secret.”
Eira bristled. “And if I will not?”
“Then I will return you to the quay, where you may try your luck with new overlords. I cannot imagine they will be so kind.”
It felt almost cruel to exact such a bargain, but I had a responsibility to our men and, most of all, to Gwenddolau. If a woman of noble blood was concealing herself in our fortress, somewhere there were noblemen in search of her.
“You must understand,” I said. “We are Dragon Warriors. We cannot harbor secrets. We cannot afford them.”
From across the room, I felt Gwenddolau’s eyes upon us. Eira followed my gaze, then stood. “I must take Angharad to bed.”
“Let me carry her.” I made to stand, but she stopped me.
“Nay, I can manage. Come, Angharad.” Her voice was gentle as she stirred my niece. “Cling to me just here.”
Angharad blinked drowsily but did as she was bidden, wrapping her gangly legs around Eira’s waist and securing her hands about her neck.
“There, now. Off to bed with you.” Eira strained at the weight of her, and I rose from my seat.
“Angharad, you’re certain you’ve everything you need?”
“Uncle, you sound an old biddy,” Angharad mumbled as Eira carried her away. I watched them go, ill at ease over Eira and her secret. Perhaps I should not have prevented Angharad from prying after all—I might have learned what caused this woman to seek escape behind our walls.
Then my cousin Brant’s low voice came at my shoulder, drawing me back from my thoughts. “You’ve found Angharad a serving woman.”
“Eira,” I said.
“Eira.” He watched as they crossed the hall, slipping from sight into Angharad’s chamber. “She looks quite suited for Pendragon, does she not?”
“Pendragon?” I turned to him. “Nay. She is far too… tall. And her back. Look at the way it curves. It’s a wonder she can stand at all.”
Brant raised a brow.
“I only mean to say—perhaps she’s not horrible to look upon, but it’s rather unfortunate about… well.” I gestured below my belt as if to indicate some bedding disease. “The men would do well to keep some distance.”
Brant shook his head with a smile. “And that’s your best effort? I’ve known you far too long, Lailoken.”
I was quite fond of my elder cousin, but I felt suddenly quite certain I might thrash him. Yet as darkness closed in round the fort, the mood in the great room had shifted. Our minds had begun to turn to the raid. When you wake and eat and slumber with the same men as long as we had, you become like one great aspen—many quivering shoots of the same tree.
Gwenddolau gestured from his table nearest the hearth, where Maelgwn had joined him already. They sat with their heads bent over a stretch of ale-stained vellum as Maelgwn made a rough sketch of the neighboring lands with a pointed reed and ink. Brant and I took our seats beside them.
We knew every old tree, each tenant farm, river, and streamlet. But maps moved our minds to these places. Sometimes a map could anticipate something we might not see. I let my eyes roam it unfocused as I told them of Diarmid’s words and Angharad’s warning.
“You saw success should we ride out tomorrow,” Gwenddolau said. “Have you changed your mind, brother?”
“Nay, not exactly.”
Gwenddolau looked at me. “Your lips say one thing, but your eyes say another.”
“It is only I now wonder what series of events this might beget. It is evident Gwrgi and Peredur mean to provoke us. We cannot refuse to answer the wrongs that have been wrought. Yet in doing so, we give Gwrgi and Peredur reason to come against us again.”
“Rhiwallon has just returned from his scouting ride,” Maelgwn said. “He tells me Gwrgi collects his rents from the harvest even now. There may not be a better moment to strike.”
“Fairhaven is closest to our border, so we cannot strike from there,” Gwenddolau said. “It must be a point Gwrgi will not expect. A place he believes is farther from our reach.”
“What of Featherstone?” Brant asked. “It lies deep in the hills. Their food rents will be scarce, but they have mining goods. Tin and lead. If we strike there, we would have Gwrgi’s head as well as a bounty in metal.”
Gwenddolau looked to me. “What say you?”
Brant was a seasoned warrior and I trusted his instincts, yet something felt unsettling. “There is risk in traveling so deep into Gwrgi’s lands,” I said. “I worry for our men. Let us strike somewhere closer to our own border.”
The Dragon Warriors were among the best men-at-arms. But more and more of late, Gwenddolau relied upon our prowess. Now the horror of Sweetmeadow had muddied his judgment.
Gwenddolau scanned our men as they sipped their drinks. They would raid if he asked it, no matter the risk. They thrived on it. But Featherstone was not a risk he needed to take.
“Think on it, Pendragon,” I advised him. “Perhaps now is not the time to strike.”
“I want Gwrgi to fear that nowhere in his kingdom is safe from our grip,” Gwenddolau decided. “Featherstone it is.”
I pinned him with a look. What good was my counsel if he would not follow it? “As you say. Long have I admired your leadership, Gwenddolau.”
My use of his birth name was purposeful. It caused him to blink as if stirring from sleep. But just as quickly his pale eyes turned stony. “Long has it been since I sacrificed the boy called Gwenddolau to become Uther Pendragon,” he said. He looked down upon the map, his deep voice rising. “It was Uther, not Gwenddolau, who was chosen to protect our kingdom when Emrys was murdered. It was Uther, not Gwenddolau, who wed himself to the goddess of the land. Uther took a spear to the lungs. Uther wets his sword with Angle blood. Uther keeps their kingdom at bay. Uther! I am not yet forty winters, yet my yellow hair turns white. I carry the weight of this island upon my back. You jest and say I no longer smile, eh, Lailoken? Look at me. Look at me and see the cost of your freedom.”
Around us, the warriors in the great room had gone silent. Gwenddolau looked up and searched the men’s faces, his eyes questioning the allegiance of each and every man.
How readily they gave it.
Satisfied, he stood.
“Tomorrow we ride for the head of Gwrgi of Ebrauc. We ride to avenge the horrors he has brought upon the people of Sweetmeadow. We will act with what honor we possess, but we will show no mercy, for none has been granted those who lie dead,” Gwenddolau said, then fixed his eyes upon me. “Such is the cost of war.”